This void in my mind craves nothing more than to feel him near again.
him and Him.
I'm looking down.. I search into the black spaces beneath me to feel a sense of relief from my searches for fulfilment in the relationships I invest in. I live this life of complexity… because I fear of living the sacrificial life…the simple life… though deep down I know it’s the only way I could be happy… Or do I really know….? Maybe the reason I’m living such a life is because I really have no idea. The cold window reflects an image of myself, yet there is no sense of familiarity. I am no longer who I used to be, so who am I, or who am I to be?
I wish to distract myself and reminisce… I feel at peace being alien to arguments on morality. How I love having a soul to communicate to… I honestly love you,pb… Who else could love literature, and who else could understand scorn and death with the same understanding of the importance of happiness… it’s all I ever asked for… and it’s exactly what I got. [f-I want to cry. Emoemoemoemoemo…emo. I don’t care… you are so perfect] Sitting in that hall, the music blaring all the god-forbidden tastes of our youth; and in the midst of the thundering noises, his eyes looked into mine, pleading me, caressing my hand. Tangling my fingers amongst his, he kissed each tip one by one, as to carefully analyse my skin with his lips… His lips observing every detail of the form of my hands…
with each peck he closed his eyes… Yet where does my pleasure lie….? And as I write these things, the more fearful I become Whathaveidonewhatthehellamidoingshouldibehereorshouldsomeoneelsebewhyistheperfectpersonhavetobesomeoneican’tbewithforeternity,whydoesfatedothatdoesfateexist?whydoesfatedothethingsitdoeswhothehellcantellmewhatfateholdsandiftheydid,howcouldtheyexplainhowtoresolvehowi’mfeelingrightnowwhycan’tidoanythingRIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!! ..shit… and I blame it all on one thing in my life for thinking like that… yet I DARE NOT say it… it would screw over too many people.
actually… would it? And I fear more… Because what I write, when I consume it, becomes a more concrete part of who I am And without analysing all thoughts, I fear of moulding myself accidentally into a person of contradictions Thus I become a person living in fear, trying to walk as straight on the line as possible, knowing I will waver anyway, not knowing what is right or wrong anymore… And those who tell me what’s “right” seem to not carry the gentleness some have yet I presume that will give me no excuse for going contrariwise to my own “sinful” actions.
strict morality never demanded gentleness so what to do with my tiring situation…? A perpetual cycle that will not break unless I myself force it to
Such things are of my greatest fear... It’s days like these I hate myself, because it’s not who I wish to be. Another typical teenage story. Sorry if it put you off.
[tell me to cheer up, but don't to it unless you have a good reason with it... otherwise no comments would be splendid] |