Sometimes a person can feel so empty they must be either stuffed with straw or hollow like a tin man. Where is my heart? Where is my brain? They need to be returned to me before the Emerald City just becomes another city and before I'm just another person dressed in green roaming the streets and asking you to spare a dime so I can feed my color-changing horse.

I've waited for twenty minutes hoping something miraculous would happen, and with each second that passes I grow more and more terrified of the realization that I'm wishing for something that won't come true. Why aren't things as simple as they used to be? Why must I constantly beat at a dead horse trying to uncover the meaning which for some reason, I'm convinced is still present among the flesh.
To anyone else who looks though, the meaning in question is long gone, vanished in the night.
Disappointment? Yeh it's possible.

I hung up a phone in frustration tonight and every time I do something similar of the sort I feel like a part of me dies. What is there to be frustrated about? I have a good life. A nice life. I'm comfortable with where I lay my head at night and I have a way to transport myself from point A to point B. Sometimes, though, that's not enough.
Words are in my head, suffocating me with the possibility that they may hold yet I don't have the courage or the strength to make them known and to convey the real thoughts that they disguise.

My sister called me boring the other day which struck a chord. In her defense, she wanted me to go to a party with her and I refused, prompting her to fall to insults in an attempt to draw me in. It didn't work. Instead it just forced me to sit and think about how much everything has changed since the beginning. I hate the beginning. With the beginning, all you can remember is how good it was. How different things were and how desperately you want them to return to that state. But in truth it's all like the yellow brick road. You have to start at the beginning to find the jewel at the end and currently I'm stuck somewhere in that forrest where they like chucking apples at poor passerby's. However, despite the fact that these days I feel more content to be 'boring', I'm still not giving up hope that that dead horse I'm beating DOES hold meaning...and that I'll be able to sail home on a hot air balloon surrounded by the people I love.