Hope vs. Loss…
Hope is merciless!
Hope is driving me insane!
That’s all there is in the end; merciless hope that maddens the most sensible, and drives the dead into living. It befools the wise and makes imbeciles of the most proper of people.
All of you are fools!
I am such a fool…
I am lost. This is all I am truly feeling; loss.
I wish I could tell you about it, but it’s hard.
To write of loss is difficult. When you know not where you are, how can you possibly tell others?
When contradiction keeps pulling you back and forth, how can you know where you stand?
But, please, let me try. Perhaps in telling you, I can better define where I am. Who I am.
It’s like standing in a vast desert, not knowing north from south, or east from west.
I am rooted into the soft, running sands but they keep unwelcoming me, telling me no roots can survive in these dry, forsaken grains. But I am overwhelmed with fear; I cannot move in any direction, so I sink myself deeper into the sands that have forsaken me.
It’s like knowing – on some level of consciousness – that I am alive but forgetting the very essence of what it means to be alive, so I breath, I sleep, I walk, all in oblivion.
It’s the reflex of knowing my name, yet having it sound foreign to my ears because no voice speaks it like his voice does. My name feels not like my name if not breathed through his lips; even though it has always been my name.
It’s when I walk down the paths I know blindly; paths I have trod since childhood, yet now the scene feels like its déjà vu on repeat.
It is a shattered dream that I am gluing back together, like a child clumsily yet – in her head – meticulously does, thinking it will hold, thinking it will grow, thinking it will somehow come alive.
I just need to glue it back together, just let me glue it back together.
It’s not having you here and my mind whispering to me that, if you were, I would be at peace, then believing the lie I tell myself.
It is the wandering mind that predicts a delusional happy future, based on nothing other than the fact that I miss you. Nothing else. Nothing else.
It is the constant state of missing you; the helplessness of not having you; the disillusioned thoughts that you are perfect even though I know you are not.
It’s a time of my life that I am wasting, yet investing. A time I wish I could focus on anything but what it is I am focusing on.
It’s when hope defies all logic as it drags me with it away from despair, when all I really need, all I really wish for is despair.
It’s where consciousness and hallucination meet; where the lines between dreams and reality blur and make me wonder which is which.
It is to love you and hate you at once; to want you and loath you at once; to know you and forsake you at once.
It is a million contradictions merged into one; smiles and melancholy; safety and fear; warmth and annoyance; all swarming in chaotic unity, all conspiring against me.
I know that the only comfort I will feel is in knowing, and I know that I will never really know.