Saturday, March 12, 2011
It's like sitting on the outskirts of town, watching everyone as they laugh, as they talk, as they pass from familiar place to familiar place, knowing where they came from, and knowing where they belong, and the realisation dawning that as close as you are, you are not part of that at all. You are the outsider, the watcher, the one that the world passes by, a forgotten face in the shadows, a silent observer who hides behind their veiled eyes. But I'm slowly becoming undone, by the hand of none other than loneliness; that dreaded companion who tortures you even as they pretend to comfort. I was never strong enough to bear this. The silence descends and nothing can distract me anymore from the darkness that's eating me from within.
So I sit down with the lights off, and I wrap my arms about my legs and let myself cry the tears that I've always tried to suppress. Instead of trying to fight it, I let the loneliness fill me, and the feeling overwhelms my frame, the very fibres of my being tingling with the sensation, with the knowledge that there is no one. I'm tired, so, so tired of fighting this. My cracks have turned into crevasses, and I must simply let myself be, broken and collapsed with weariness, succumb to the terror that I have failed myself. Not even my anger can save me now. I betrayed myself by not being who I am, and the world betrayed me by passing me by like I was unimportant. I'd just be another story ending with tragedy. Sometimes I think all we are is tragedies. I shall put myself back together and pretend this never happened, but I shall carry the weight around, my cross, and I shall bear the scars forever. But you'll never catch me in a such a moment of vulnerability, and you'll never know the raw feelings that course through me. All you'll ever get is this, a mere shadow, for I have not the gift to express it in words.