In my attempts at trying to become whole, I find myself searching for constant company. I thrive in the laughs, the jokes, and the attitudes of the people around me, and I am fueled with a spontaneous burst of energy when a friend is by my side. All these and more are enjoyable ways to finally kill that other feeling deep within me: a sense of longing, a sense of loneliness.
Deep within me is an empty hole no one else seemed to have filled yet, and in my futile undertakings to try to fill it up, nothing had seemed to work. My whole life had revolved around the stories of my encounters with feelings I easily distribute, as if these emotions of mine are something that can be freely toyed around with, a feeling that unsettles me still. Have I gone so deep into these ideas I cook up for myself, these aims at trying to make the fictional real so impossibly absurd I have become delusional? Isn’t it tiring to have to go through the cycle of feeling and heartwrenching, feeling and heartwrenching?
I held my breath as you came in, that shy but still personality of yours shining through still, as if I had been expecting you all my life. I welcome you in like I had always been doing, to try to get the message across that you may have been the one I had been looking for, as I had been claiming for several times now. Is it so hard to keep trying the way I do, to try to convince myself to stick around a little while longer? Is it so hard to believe the way I do that your vulnerability is something I am willing to accept in exchange for mine?
I saw you in all your humble glory, the tears shooting straight through my eyes as I try to pull you close. But I always just stop at trying, a pitstop I really would love to avoid but have no choice getting out, a quagmire I have desperately been trying to solve. It’s the fear, I guess, of trying to give so much and getting nothing back. It’s a fear I’m not new to, but used to, as if this fate had been built into my system my whole life?
Am I always meant to just try, and temporarily satisfy this loneliness of mine with futile attempts to get your attention? Why is it so hard for me to accept the fact that you could’ve been a possibility? Is it because I immediately overrule my own self in the efforts of trying to self-convince that maybe, just maybe, I could’ve been right? Or did I put you somewhere else too high that I have lost you too?
I know you’ve lost things too, believe me, we all had. That’s why I always come back and return to you. It’s because that while I know that you can never feel the same way I do, I always come back with a stronger heart and an open mind that maybe this time around, you just might.
O Captain, my Captain, with your eyes that shine as bright as the stars in the cosmos; you are the universe, and you hold me in the palm of your hand as I return to you again.