What is it to be alone?
How can someone personify the sensation?
Alone is the sensation of life, of such brilliance all around, such beauty, so many things,
so many thoughts.
Only to find yourself watching, never to touch, never to see, never to smell, never to
Alone is the process of contemplation, a vice imposed upon ones self, a self defense
mechanism, only for some this one can destroy more easily that most.
Happiness, such an alien thought, moments can be happy, experiences can be as well,
but as I sit here bathed in the light of this screen, I feel empty, nothingness, this would
describe my life.
Day to day returning to this room, surrounded by friends, none of whom I can touch,
none that I can see, life it seems so ethereal, so unrealistic, a myriad of faces painted
on the canvas of memory.
there’s no words to put to the feeling, the need, something, someone, some sense of
better existence a dream to aspire, only to fall short.
Now the broken shards of life and reality make their cuts, each in turn opening the
wounds more and more.
I tell my self that this is nothing to be feared, so I greet the pain as my only friend, the
one thing I have found as constant in my life.
Loneliness is not brought on by the need of another person in your life, it’s brought on
by the desire to have something that which is not yours to have.
Something that can never be found, the proverbial needle in the haystack, my only wish,
my greatest sin… Desire.
I often ponder how many are so afflicted, how numerous our ranks must be, only to find
a sense of ambivalence, a lack of caring for how the world sees me, how many suffer
such sweet familiar pains.
For I am who I am, nothing could be more simply put, so painfully realized, so fatally
Perhaps this is the journey, perhaps there is nothing more to some peoples existence,
and how could that be bad?
Rejoice! rejoice! we all have a purpose, we all have a meaning, how should I complain
about mine?
So many memories, thoughts of a possible future that I will never have, dreams of a
place I will never be, I can see the light in her eyes, I can feel the wind in my hair.
Only to realize the light is the candle reflected in my own soul so hollow and empty, the
place, somewhere that shall never exist, the wind my own words echoing through my
lonely soul.
Pain in such circumstances has two possible outcomes, to motivate, and to destroy,
such a shame that the later seems to be my fate.
Often I have tried to reach through the mirror, to touch the face in the glass, to see the
eyes, to feel the sweet caress.
Folly my only reward, such aspirations bringing me so close to the heaven I yearn to
find, only to fall back to the Earth with charred wings, bloody, and broken.
Life’s long journey, belabored with so many obstacles, so many broken shards of glass,
the hall of mirrors spits out it’s contemptuous images, shattering each as I look into
them, only to leave me walking along the shards.
Horrid beast, duality, desire, and love, the eternal bliss, the eternal curse, to have once
risen so high, only to fall so far, bones break, and cuts mend.
Forbidden thoughts of what may one day be, only bringing the pain a new, some new
curse to blind and burn, a new torture to bind myself to.
No my dearest friends, the curse is mine, tis my burden to cary, and my joy to be
comforted by it’s familiar sting.
No one should know this pain, no one should have the dark shadows envelop them
such as I have.
So now again I wait, patiently, watching for the stranger, so distant, so familiar,
perchance that by their passing by I may steal away with some piece of joy.
But in the end, what is joy, but nothing more than that moment of happiness, that stark
reminder of what I cannot have and what I cannot be.
Once again withdrawn to my pain, my only familiar place, I sit for a spell, perchance to
see a stranger pass me by, perchance to steal away a moment of distraction from
where I am.

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