Lost. Lost and Directionless. And ultimately lonely.
That's how I summarise the way I've felt for so long. Ever since the middle of high school. That's a long time to feel that way. It eats me inside. There was a boy though, a boy whom I believed in, a boy that represented something else. I felt different, better, but not content. Yet still, now, I wish he'd be the one.
He doesn't make me feel good. He doesn't remember my birthday and he never pays enough attention. He doesn't hug me properly and he never reassures me. I don't know why I want him to love me. He never will.
I feel sorry for the ones who have fallen for me. Because I've never felt the same. And I feel sorry for me. Unable to get past this boy. The boy who talks to me yet at the very same time looks right through me. And I feel sorry for him. Because there is so much unsaid. There is so much inside. I see his light and love his dark, to quote Alanis. But I've taken so many blows to my inside, and I feel weak, yet I still can't dismiss whatever it is that we have. If it's friendship, it's the most fucked one I've ever had.
I'm scared of never getting over it. I'm scared of never finding the confidence in me. I'm scared of being alone. I'm scared of carrying this feeling forever. And I really, really just need a hug that speaks more than words.
We're all hunting for something. We're all hunting for happiness and inner contentment, and partnership. We're all hunting for these illusive goals. More illusive for some. For the messed-up. For the ones who are lost.
We're looking everywhere for the solution. We don't even know what the solution is. We want to love, and be loved. And we hope it makes everything ok. We're lost on our own.
And it'll be indefinitley so. Until we can let go of the past and trust ourselves to love. Allow ourselves to love. We're worth more than our component parts, not less. United individuals. It's true. It's undeniably so.
Maybe I'll find the boy who'll believe in me. Maybe I'll be the one I'm meant to be.
Graham's blog: politics, poetry, and introspection