This is one of those moments that do not come often, but strike with heart-wrenching force when they do come. I speak of the strong desire to have a healthy and wholesome relationship with a woman. It hits me sometimes. Maybe when I am lying in bed alone. When I just want someone who truly knows me to listen to my thoughts. When I want someone to walk through the dark with and into the light. Someone who’s presence is a stabilizing and soothing thing. When I want this, I want it with what seems to be all of my heart. And yet, a few hours or days later, it is shoved roughly to the back-most recesses of my mind and replaced with the regular, futile thought patterns; the same insubordinate desires, the same cynical dialogues, the same dismantling doubts. It is during these times that hope returns, it raises its head from the dung heap in which I buried it and looks through blood-streaked eyes to the future. A path forward, a way to life. Even a possibility would be a gift. The knowledge that there is a way home, a return to innocence. But how many minutes until the next waves of disillusionment come crashing against my feeble defenses, breaking the shaky barriers and sending hope back to the pits? It seems inevitable, it seems determined. Is there always a hope? Always a way? Or does fate play spoiler to this philosophy?
Published by purloinedpoet
On January 1 2019, I will be in a car traveling South and West. An odyssey for truth, an adventure for peace, an aesthetic life. I may not find these things, indeed, I don't exactly expect to find them all. Regardless, experiences are the fuel of writing, and writing is what I want to do. What better way to have experiences than to discover where the open road takes you? View all posts by purloinedpoet