2004-01-24 - 12:48 a.m.
Won't you bring me back the bright and shining glory?
I'm happy now, but the sadness persists. Sometimes, even when I'm with the people I love the most, I feel isolated. Is this something I do to myself. In the future, I see them all happy, fulfilled, and beyond my reach. Like I have a small window to peer through at them and feel moved at their joy, but am unable to be with them, and I am sad. I feel it as if with the hard certainty of tomorrow, and am frightened. Yet even if I could, would I choose differently? Ah, well, at least I can feel solace in the knowledge that my life may be enriched by such wonderful people, even if I am meant to be alone in the end.
Yet, should I have to be alone? Perhaps not, but... no, it seems to terrible a thing to expect of anyone. That is why I feel it. I can see the way they look at me, those rare individuals who choose to see something there. They don't know what it is, but it makes them feel--curiosity, excitement, pity, respect, resentment--but only a few seek out the answer. And those who discover the truth, or rather come to understand it only vaguely, they see what it means and are frightened. It is a sacrifice that trun away even the most desperate. Even if I found such a person, I don't know that I could bring myself to allow them.
There is hope though. I am not entirely unique, at least not in the way it has seemed for so long. There are others, bringing conflict, love, power, sacrifice, and so many others together. I would not force these, nor deny them. For I know, that just as I am, they are drawn to the same fate. Joined, would they still cry out for something else? Is there not contentment ever? Certainly not permanent. It only hurts because you're looking for an end to it all. But there is no end, as tiring as that seems; only the next chapter, the next book, the next story. I sometimes wonder if we are forced to give up our pasts, or if we willingly drink the water of the River Lethe.
Is it cruel to create a being so incomplete? I think that it be so, therefore I have done what I have. Let me seek myself then, and see how akin the creation is to the artist. Perhaps even, the creation becomes the artist.
