Silence. It is one am, and silent. Sometimes I go for long walks in the middle of the night. I love the peaceful feeling of a world asleep. There is no one on the street, just me.
I crave the silence, and yet I feel that it is killing me. To be alone goes against human nature. We are social. We love. We are not meant to exist alone.
I choose this silence. I don't like people or need people enough to seek them out.
People say there is someone for everyone. I have the audacity to be picky. I don't mind the silence or the emptiness enough to settle for someone ugly, stupid, or obnoxious. I wonder how many people I have passed over in my life to get here? How many potential "soulmates" have I walked right passed and assumed were incompatible?
This concept of "love" and "soulmates", have I become too jaded to believe in it? I think we find someone we can tolerate. We reach a threshold of mutual tolerance and comfort, and we choose to work at it, to make the relationship work. That sounds so ugly, but what happens when you meet someone? You feel giddy and get lost in them. There is passion and sex and intensity, and then it slowly fades to comfort and tolerance. Physical love is fleeting. Then the real work comes in. Then you choose to work at it, and accept the flaws and learn to compliment that person by being strong and picking up their slack.
Love is a choice.
I dream of looking into her eyes and knowing that she is mine. I am hers. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, and in the shivers that roll up and down my spine.
I remember once or twice when I was younger looking at a woman and getting this intense feeling, like flutters in my stomach or shivers down my spine and just knowing that this girl was special. This girl was like a star in the heavens, almost unreal, almost beyond reach. What was that? Did it mean anything? Will I ever feel it again?
Where is she? The one who will look into my heart and see me in a way the others don't? The one who will choose to love me? Is she on the other side of the world? Is she in the place I felt was home? Have I already passed her by? Are there a thousand of her, scattered across the world, waiting for fate to run us into each other, or is there only one? One girl amongst billions?
The moon is not quite full. Still, her light blots out a grat many stars tonight. She will be full on the third. I wonder if I will look up at her that night, as I have so many times before, and imagine that she is smiling down on me, a goddess with pale skin and dark hair wrapped in robes of night, dotted with stars. How I would love to curl up in her arms and pour out the emptiness and sadness I have felt, one tear for every night I spent alone.
She is out there, somewhere. She feels the loneliness just as I do, and wants to be wrapped in my arms just as much as I wish to be in hers. When you think of it that way, have I ever truly been alone? Someday, we will stumble into each other's arms and it will be like coming home.
I am the violent expression of Me,
Wanting you to Be.
I am the light in the window,
Calling you home.
I crave the silence, and yet I feel that it is killing me. To be alone goes against human nature. We are social. We love. We are not meant to exist alone.
I choose this silence. I don't like people or need people enough to seek them out.
People say there is someone for everyone. I have the audacity to be picky. I don't mind the silence or the emptiness enough to settle for someone ugly, stupid, or obnoxious. I wonder how many people I have passed over in my life to get here? How many potential "soulmates" have I walked right passed and assumed were incompatible?
This concept of "love" and "soulmates", have I become too jaded to believe in it? I think we find someone we can tolerate. We reach a threshold of mutual tolerance and comfort, and we choose to work at it, to make the relationship work. That sounds so ugly, but what happens when you meet someone? You feel giddy and get lost in them. There is passion and sex and intensity, and then it slowly fades to comfort and tolerance. Physical love is fleeting. Then the real work comes in. Then you choose to work at it, and accept the flaws and learn to compliment that person by being strong and picking up their slack.
Love is a choice.
I dream of looking into her eyes and knowing that she is mine. I am hers. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, and in the shivers that roll up and down my spine.
I remember once or twice when I was younger looking at a woman and getting this intense feeling, like flutters in my stomach or shivers down my spine and just knowing that this girl was special. This girl was like a star in the heavens, almost unreal, almost beyond reach. What was that? Did it mean anything? Will I ever feel it again?
Where is she? The one who will look into my heart and see me in a way the others don't? The one who will choose to love me? Is she on the other side of the world? Is she in the place I felt was home? Have I already passed her by? Are there a thousand of her, scattered across the world, waiting for fate to run us into each other, or is there only one? One girl amongst billions?
The moon is not quite full. Still, her light blots out a grat many stars tonight. She will be full on the third. I wonder if I will look up at her that night, as I have so many times before, and imagine that she is smiling down on me, a goddess with pale skin and dark hair wrapped in robes of night, dotted with stars. How I would love to curl up in her arms and pour out the emptiness and sadness I have felt, one tear for every night I spent alone.
She is out there, somewhere. She feels the loneliness just as I do, and wants to be wrapped in my arms just as much as I wish to be in hers. When you think of it that way, have I ever truly been alone? Someday, we will stumble into each other's arms and it will be like coming home.
I am the violent expression of Me,
Wanting you to Be.
I am the light in the window,
Calling you home.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
that's what 'oh, jack' meant in this context.