I Still...

I still want to write in this blog. There is so much history here, so much completeness and beautiful imperfection about who I was and who I will be and the journey in between. I loved writing here. Still do. I still want to be a TV personality. I figured it out. That is the title I want. I want to give people a voice in my interviews, I want to help them show the world who they are. I want to be the woman with the golden microphone. I'm still trying to. I still love him. It's just not as naive. But I still get butterflies when I hear his ringtone, because yes, he still has a ringtone. I love to see him making progress, with the hopes that he'll steer himself in the right direction with it soon. I hate that beard. Somehow, to me, that beard is synonymous with him losing his soul. And even if it's just the shell of him talking to me, I can fill him up with the memory of my love, even if just for an inboxed word or two, so he can keep going. I don't really get anything out of it, besides a faint smile, reluctant to be full because of all the pain, but I still love him. And I'd be doing myself a disservice to claim any different. I'd be a fool to think he loves me too.