I woke up this morning, I thought it was 8, maybe 9, but most certainly not 10. How quickly the hours pass then under the influence of deep sleep and the sound of rain falling from the sky onto fallen leaves. It makes me sad to know that my life can pass by unnoticed like this. To know that I can merely sleep through time that I could be spending doing something else. I sleep though because I do not want to be responsible. I do not want to wake up to do the inevitable. Sleep prolongs the day that I dread, for what is there to wake up for here?
As positive as I try to stay, this place has got me trapped in an infinite loop of redundancy. When will I wake up somewhere that I want to be? When will I wake up in the arms of my love, to a gentle kiss on the lips, and a sweet 'Good Morning Babe' in my ear? When will I go to work with enthusiasm instead of woe? Hopefully soon. I'm so scared though. This stage of my life is so rapidly coming to an end, and I have no idea where it is going. Where will I live? What will I do? How am I going to survive on my own? And the daunting questions of death sweep over me almost daily. If I was diagnosed as a terminal cancer patient today, would I be satisfied with the life I have lived thus far? Would I be able to accept my fate with dignity and grace as a wonderful young friend of mine once did? How can anyone feel satisfied with their life when they simply feel trapped--when they feel like they are a victim of their own choices? Does everything really happen for a reason?
I feel like I could ask questions for pages and pages. If only I could be certain about more than one thing in my life. I am in love with him. Shouldn't that be enough? Is love ever enough? I hardly ever get to see him, and I can feel him slipping away through my fingers, which makes this place even harder to bear. I have always loved him. In times of fear I have turned to him. In times of darkness I have asked him for light. In times of sadness my thoughts of him would make me smile, whether I knew he was mine or not. He was my first love, and my only love. I love him, no matter what. I miss him so much, everyday, all day. So much so, that I feel the need to stay perpetually busy so that my thoughts do not wonder to him. The root of my unhappiness. I should just be grateful, shouldn't I -- to have a love, to be loved, to be privelledged, and to do what I do when I do it. I should really stop complaining, maybe then I could really be happy.
As positive as I try to stay, this place has got me trapped in an infinite loop of redundancy. When will I wake up somewhere that I want to be? When will I wake up in the arms of my love, to a gentle kiss on the lips, and a sweet 'Good Morning Babe' in my ear? When will I go to work with enthusiasm instead of woe? Hopefully soon. I'm so scared though. This stage of my life is so rapidly coming to an end, and I have no idea where it is going. Where will I live? What will I do? How am I going to survive on my own? And the daunting questions of death sweep over me almost daily. If I was diagnosed as a terminal cancer patient today, would I be satisfied with the life I have lived thus far? Would I be able to accept my fate with dignity and grace as a wonderful young friend of mine once did? How can anyone feel satisfied with their life when they simply feel trapped--when they feel like they are a victim of their own choices? Does everything really happen for a reason?
I feel like I could ask questions for pages and pages. If only I could be certain about more than one thing in my life. I am in love with him. Shouldn't that be enough? Is love ever enough? I hardly ever get to see him, and I can feel him slipping away through my fingers, which makes this place even harder to bear. I have always loved him. In times of fear I have turned to him. In times of darkness I have asked him for light. In times of sadness my thoughts of him would make me smile, whether I knew he was mine or not. He was my first love, and my only love. I love him, no matter what. I miss him so much, everyday, all day. So much so, that I feel the need to stay perpetually busy so that my thoughts do not wonder to him. The root of my unhappiness. I should just be grateful, shouldn't I -- to have a love, to be loved, to be privelledged, and to do what I do when I do it. I should really stop complaining, maybe then I could really be happy.
