writing from the train

I am on a train to Cluj.
I dread writing, because I am worn of expression.
Even the thought of a mere pen and paper gives me staticity in my temples.
staticity isn't a real word.
I am frustrated right now.
When I cry I have this aching pressure in my chest.
I like to think of it as butterflies to the masochistic.
A few hours ago I was on the mountain top, where the Lord was romancing me.
Now I am fighting for my life, in a valley somewhere in the thick of war.
the seasons are changing too fast.
I am growing in love and longing too fast, it's like weeds shooting up amongst the spry.
The thing I am most frustrated about, and the thing that makes me fitful, not only in sleep but in life; you're still gone.
I have lost my will for many things:
I am easily upset
easily hurt
easily emotional
not every plate, guitar, or even cigar in this world could curb the way I feel right now.
I want to be over it
I want to be ok
I want Chris
I want to be patient
I want to love freely
I want to be alone
I want to be the crowd
I want to be understood
I want to be allowed to be angry
I want to be silent
I want to trust
I want to be done with the process
I want to configure time
I want to squish the world like a grape
I want to declare my love over and over like a childish child
I want to be old and almost done
I want to be young with wonder abounding
I want to want only YOU
I want to be honest
I want to be known
I want to know the Lord
I want to know how to be
I don't want to control
I hate everything that is happening
I love everything the Lord is doing in the happening
I don't want to be asked "what's wrong?"
I don't want everyone to walk on egg shells around me
I thought today would be different, but it isn't
everyday is the same since you left, and I don't know what to do
I am wanting