I’m hurt. There is no special term to describe the feeling that is gripping my heart’s depths. Exacerbated is my strife by the countless messages that have not yet been spoken to any living soul. My soul – my withered soul – is shattered into pieces. Life works in strange ways; it has always been my predisposition to declare with simplicity regarding the complexity of life, “I understand it!” Alas, how very wrong I’ve been proven over the years.
My troubles started one fateful day in fall 2013. Speaking of it will do nothing to help at present. It’s a bygone time, with bygone people. Oh, people. I don’t know what to think of them anymore. There are preset relationships with these creatures based on the miracles of birth and circumstance, of which birth is presumably the stronger? I’m not sure. There is also a relationship of yours with the greatest person for you, or so they say – yourself. Loathe I do this relationship with myself. Yet in the darkest depths of my being, I might love relationships with others. Herein lies the problem, maybe.
I have so much to say, yet I shouldn’t. Thoughts are difficult. Memories are strong. Visions of the future are rife with guilt, uncertainty and pain. This is all that I can say. Perhaps one day, one fateful day, I’ll share myself with someone else, and their acceptance of me shall be my greatest triumph. I enviously wait for that day. Maybe I already have. Maybe that someone is involved in a struggle with their own demons. Yes. I should be kind and accepting. This special person has accepted me. Maybe. Oh boy, I’ll wait… I’ll wait for a long time, until the Sun stops rising, until the Moon stops glowing, until the very last breath has left me. But, I’ll wait. Maybe I’ll know beforehand. I can only hope so.
Nothing in return do I want but happiness. Not mine. Yours. Is that too much to ask? Yes, I have failed. My demons have failed me. They’ve only fed yours. To this I can do nothing but apologize. Apologize to you, and me. Apologize to us. I’ve lots of blotches in my character. They spilled all over you. Maybe. I don’t know… I don’t know who’s me and who’s you in these lines anymore, having spent an eternity blurring these lines of separation. Alas, maybe it’s time to scribble on top, separate once more. Maybe not. I don’t know.
For now, I smile. For now, I don’t irritate. This may change… when it does, I need to forgive. For now, the light is there in the world. For now, there is strength. But how longer? I’m not sure. I never will be. Perhaps this whole treatise on myself was pointless. Perhaps not. I don’t want to be the judge of its success. It is up to you, like it always has been, to decide.
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