Lacking

    So it came to be that I was not lost.  I knew exactly where I was, where I had always been.  Suffocating in the expected and mediocrity.  So dead set on not living the life that I wanted, but rather the life I was suppose to.
    This has been the destruction of my life.  This is my great tragedy.  My incredibly cowardice.  I envy the brave.  Even if that courage takes them away from me or what I want, I respect it.
    So many ideas, so many possibilities.  If I just had the guts to grab them.

Words You Left

    The worst thing ever said to me was “I’m not sure I ever loved you.” It isn’t because I feel like I’ve never been love. I am loved. I am surrounded by it, often enough that I feel guilty for how unhappy a person I am. No, why those were the worst words is something else.
    The love we had may not have been perfect. She may not have understood my love for her, or even unconditional love at all. Yet we shared a bond, a connection unlike any other. A closeness that won’t exist again, because it just doesn’t happen. Being that close isn’t healthy, but it is so very nice, when you’re in it, before it sours.
    To allude that this bond was in someway not genuine, that it was in fact fake, is an insult to me. I was in it, I remember. To think that for years it was just confusion, but the feelings now, surrounded by erratic and irrational behaviour are true is, was, absurd.
    I loved and was loved. It went wrong, perhaps it always was wrong. But it happened. Wounded, insulted, blind, alone I soldier on. Perhaps the wrong word. I am no soldier, I have no strength. People say they know I’ll be “okay”. Yet I know there are lessons we cannot unlearn, there are places we cannot go back to, and I don’t even remember what “okay” means anymore.

Rinse, Repeat

This is all a lie. The hope that is proves false. We cannot escape our wounds. Rejection from the barely known sparks pain beyond their potential. My hopes for myself die.

            I am a falsehood. We are, everyone of us, worthless. I still long to dream something special, something that makes me again feel worthwhile, unique, amazing as I once did.  Something that makes me feel chosen beyond hormone and availability.
            In this night I am a face among the masses. I am the nameless. I am the hurt we will all feel, the rejection that cannot be ignored. I am the blood that must be bled, because the only other option is death. I am despair.
            Alone I return home. Minor offenses burning with the sting of greater betrayal. I cannot escape the fact that even in the greatest happiness, I still know life is hollow, worthless, and insignificant. As is every part of us.