Misty River ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stardust and Pixie Sticks Strange how we desperately call out in our weakest moments to those things which have caused the greatest harm to us in the past. As if that moment of tragedy ruffling your feathers will suddenly cause that which you cry out for to care so accutely as to acknowledge and soothe you in the staggering pain of misery you are enveloped in. I have cried out in the black of night to the heavens as they opened and poured down on me and I can tell you from experience that the person to whom I whimpered and cried for did not magically appear or call me or write to me to ease any of the burdens I felt at that moment. You can taste their presence. You summon them with every last ounce of strength your soul carries. And still they do not appear. It seems an endless nightmare but eventually you pick yourself up and carry on, wounded that whoever you longed for did not appear in any way shape or form. "Call me! Call me! Oh please if there is a lord or lady anywhere in the universe let this person do as I wish... let them know I am miserable and let them feel my need." The plea's fall onto the ears of greater beings long since dead. I have felt this way a few times in my life. I can imagine others who have felt this way as well. Perhaps in boot camp, a thousand or more miles from the object you covetted, knowing full well that their intentions were different from yours, knowing full well that they used you. Yet you still sit there in your bunk at night, staring at the ceiling for the few brief moments before your mind collapses in exhaustion, longing, craving the soft voice, the whispers of comfort, the shared moments and memories. I know how you felt oh he who was lied to... manipulated... used... and even in that you cling to that which was precious hoping that you may have misinterpretted something... hoping that those precious times will return once again when you make it through the misery you've immersed yourself in... hoping that you were wrong... hoping that you will be the one chosen though knowing deep within yourself that you will not be. I have counted the minutes until I could be with a certain someone again. I have gazed at the night sky, brilliant with stars and the dust of milleniums past and seen faded and dull firmament. When one falls into this mode it is hard to shake the sensations that come with it. A vapid existence even zombies would shun. What is it that causes people to feel with such intensity and desire for one single object at those moments, knowing that the person they seek comfort from is not for them, knowing that the person they seek comfort from has shut themselves from you. Tireless... I lead a host of broken souls to the edge of oblivion. Back and forth I gather them up as they sulk. I give them a brief respite before I nudge them over to stare into their destiny. They can choose from there to fly over the edge or they can pick up their belongings and wander off towards the glade of the living. Don't whine to me while you're falling, it was your choice. 12:39 a.m. - 2006-10-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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