The sun is setting already. Too soon, say I. It seems just a few minutes ago when I opened my eyes to this day, to these few hours I pretend to be alive. All too soon, and yet sometimes I feel it is not soon enough, will I be able to close my eyes once more, and be gone unto the oblivion which I seek.
Morbid be I, and evermore shall I stay. Complain you might and may, but I will never change. There are times I am happy, times I know not pain, be those few and far between, yet still wield my pen during that I never will. Passion exists to be true, when I am happy, and yet it is ever so much stronger when unhappiness, or a better word would be disquiet, is prevalent. And from passion comes the need to write, and from the need, and from the need, comes the inspiration, the words forming in my heart, tingling in my hands, in my fingers until they are typed or written in some way, some form.
It's a cancer eating my soul, but if you believe words I've written in years past, my soul is already long gone. Not stolen, not given away, not sold, just gone, faded away I think.
Many are cynical, countless are jaded, I am neither, and yet I am all. What is a realistic idealist called? What is someone called who believes in good but expects the worst, but is still heartbroken when the worst does happen?
What is someone called who wears a mask in public, every day, pretending everything's okay, everything's gonna be all right, but deep inside is so messed up she doesn't know what "normal" is anymore? What is someone called who internalizes everything she goes through, keeps it so deep inside that when it comes back up, it's not a trickle, but a flood?
Go on, if I keep asking questions it means that I never have to stop and live this half-life of mine…if I keep asking questions, I can pretend I'm seeking the truth and not have to spout philosophical truths of mine own. If I keep seeking the truth I never have to admit I know nothing and yet all too much. If I keep asking questions I never have to see my boyfriend's face ask he searches mine, trying to find the one thing that's wrong with me. He loves me so much, and he'd take away all my pain if he could…but I can't verbalize anything for him to even begin to understand what is wrong. Hell, if I don't know what's the matter with me, how can I pretend to explain?
And so I live this life of mine, one day at a time, each day neither better nor worse than the last. And yet even that statement isn't true. I have someone who shows me the light, someone who sticks with me, by my side. Someone I can't stand to hurt, and it tears me up so deep inside that I can't take that look off of his face. What's worse is when I know that unequivocally, I put it there.
Through the trees the sunset is still visible; tendrils of colors here and there peaking through the branches. Still, the sun is setting, time is passing by…and I sit and wait until I can close my eyes and end this cycle. ~
12/10/06
Wow, was I messed up when I wrote this....
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