Sometimes I ask myself is this life a test ? A testament to all the lost souls who cant find their way home. Every day I observed love in its most purest form. The love of a mother for her child, the love a man for his country. But for the most part, this love has eluded me. Most nights I cling to my pillow in an attempt to replicate the most fundamental of human interactions. To hold someone close, to translate love into a physical function of ones body. But a pillow unless held onto, will eventually let go and this is where one realizes that a pillow is not an adequate substitution for the real thing.
As the days and weeks go by, I try to my best to avoid contact with other humans. It is better to avoid the unattainable, than it is to face it head-on. One could lie to themselves and believe that there is in actuality someone for everyone, however in retrospect, that is just an antiquated colloquialism with no merit or substantiation. Further from the truth are the nights where one ponders what could have been, when in actuality they are mired in the here and now with no chance for escape. Though I do dream, even in my slumbering state do I adhere to stereotypes that are thrust upon me. " You are weird, you are ugly" there is no place for you here. You are nothing more than junk DNA, a broken branch on your family tree, an eye sore, a face worth forgetting.
So, many nights I just lay there, staring up at the celling fan. Its fluid movements almost hypnotizing, the cool air a refreshing break from the hell you can call my life. Though I know how easy it could be if I just ended it all right now, a slice of the wrist, a pill too many, a few feet to far over the center line, I also know that there are ones who have it much worse than I. Ones who have never experienced the stunning brilliance of the auroras or subtle beauty of the Rocky mountains and for this I am grateful. For this I can justify a life without love.
