The wind is carrying an ocean of dark grey coulds overhead. The lines of rich green evergreen trees surrounding my apartment complex sway like line dancers to an inaudable rhythm. The air is heavy and moist, and the first few drops have coated the parking lots and streets with a glistening sheen. There is no sunset, only the gradual shift from light to dark.
I want to climb to a high cliff and leap off. The wind would surely catch me and lift me up into the darkening heavens. I want to become one with the clouds above and lose myself in the lightning and thunder. This storm feels like me. I feel like this storm.
Perhaps it is the grey hollow I feel in my soul that makes me feel so akin to the rain. Perhaps I want to pour out my emptiness on the world, spit it out of me so that I can once again find my smile.
Perhaps the haze is a reminder of how lost I feel, so incapable of knowing which way to go. How long can I charge forward blindly before self-doubt sends me to my knees? I want to cry, just to manifest my pain physically and empty it out of me.
How long have I been writing journals like this? I can't remember the first. I've gone through so many books of paper. I don't even know why I started. I guess I just picked up a pen one day and started talking to myself. If I had them all, what kind of chronical would it be? Who would want to read my pain and my fear? I feel guilty now, for putting these pages up where others can see them. What if someone else becomes infected with my disease?
My pain is mine, I am strong enough to deal with it. I have lived alone long enough to know that. Still, I feel myself slowly becoming more attached to the world. My friends care about me. My friends here talk to me and support my desire to find love. My friends in the game miss me when I am gone, and ask me about how my life is and how I feel. My friends in the world invite me to hang out with them, and tell me I can come live with them when they get a new house, and let me know that I am loved. I used to feel so alone, but lately I feel connected. Maybe I don't have a woman I can count on to hold me when I am sad, but I have a friend. Each day these little connections present themselves and make me feel a little less alone. Strangely enough, even without a mother or a father, I have a family.
I want to climb to a high cliff and leap off. The wind would surely catch me and lift me up into the darkening heavens. I want to become one with the clouds above and lose myself in the lightning and thunder. This storm feels like me. I feel like this storm.
Perhaps it is the grey hollow I feel in my soul that makes me feel so akin to the rain. Perhaps I want to pour out my emptiness on the world, spit it out of me so that I can once again find my smile.
Perhaps the haze is a reminder of how lost I feel, so incapable of knowing which way to go. How long can I charge forward blindly before self-doubt sends me to my knees? I want to cry, just to manifest my pain physically and empty it out of me.
How long have I been writing journals like this? I can't remember the first. I've gone through so many books of paper. I don't even know why I started. I guess I just picked up a pen one day and started talking to myself. If I had them all, what kind of chronical would it be? Who would want to read my pain and my fear? I feel guilty now, for putting these pages up where others can see them. What if someone else becomes infected with my disease?
My pain is mine, I am strong enough to deal with it. I have lived alone long enough to know that. Still, I feel myself slowly becoming more attached to the world. My friends care about me. My friends here talk to me and support my desire to find love. My friends in the game miss me when I am gone, and ask me about how my life is and how I feel. My friends in the world invite me to hang out with them, and tell me I can come live with them when they get a new house, and let me know that I am loved. I used to feel so alone, but lately I feel connected. Maybe I don't have a woman I can count on to hold me when I am sad, but I have a friend. Each day these little connections present themselves and make me feel a little less alone. Strangely enough, even without a mother or a father, I have a family.
Keep writing, keep posting, and hang onto your friends.