And gasps for air at night. Today, I'm sleeping on the beach. When nothing in the universe makes sense, I find myself drawn to spend time with her myself.
No city lights. No confusion. Just being whole. I find myself begging her not to leave me here alone.
As the postal service plays in my headphones I wonder who I am. I wonder if I even know. Or do I just keep going. Never stopping. Never thinking. Just reacting.
Fake Tom is gone now. Real Tom is too. I suppose he never was there though. And all I'm left with more puzzle pieces of myself, asking myself where they go. What do we do now. Silence is sobering. And somber.
Who could love me? It's not that I am not unlovable, it's simply I want to love so hard that in the fraction of a percentage there is to beat the odds when it comes to love, that it stops me of hope.
I like being irrational for love. I think it's one of my most admirable qualities. And yet the universe created me without another half. Doomed to never be whole.
And if the only possibility is to settle, my lungs will continue to concave until they mummify. Who am I? Who have I ever been? Why am I Here? In this brutal place with no love. Where greed stretches from end to another, yet love, the mystic creature it is, is never here.
I feel like my life is likely a replica of the show the good place. This is a very specially designed own hell to get the most out of torturing me.
Where is our humanity? Where is the desire that burns a hole in your flesh and is so much less than a responsability that it becomes enjoyment? Where?
Did I successfully kill myself those years ago and I'm in denial and burdened forever to only graze love but a moment, never grasping? Never holding? Always with a burning position to park, kick my feet up, and sit down with a good book?
Where? Where are they for me? The love that isn't a lesson? The love that doesn't hurt?
I can read, write, do all the things the earth has to offer, but without love it's a shallow adventure to null my own senses.
Someone asked what I wanted to master in this life, years ago. My answer was love. But I'm not for the faint of heart, and I've never met someone even remotely close to as brave as me. They idolize it. I do not. I know it's bad with good. It's a lot of acceptance, and very possibly denial, but it defies ever urge to jump ship because they are worth it. Everyone is.
So with every failure under my belt, I imagine I am climbing mountains. And with every step up, it an acceptance that there is less air.
And I beg, with my entire aurua and fiber, and molecule, and atom, to please do not let me get to the top alone. While I will happily be a martyr for the wishes of others. To teach and learn, and give my every breath as a witness, but my heart, wants be loved with the same ferocity back. And I think I'm alone here.
In one of the greatest love tales of all time, they loved for merely a day and died. Why do I think I'm better? Why don't I give up.
I'm bankrupt without it.
I need a beast. I need a monster who is capable of being tame. Who looks into these two different colored eyes, and says I've been waiting just as long. And my soul can stop wondering and rest. My soul is not at home here. It's gutwrenching unwavering pain. To know how easy it is, to whisper I love you I'm the dead of night. To beg someone to not get out of bed the next day. To have a fortress of kind words, and sea of romantic suffocation.
I've been on my own now since birth. Lost. Alone. Marveling at my own survival skills, and even my adaptation skills.
I just need these things from such great heights to come down now.
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