The Sky

Who is it that I see when I look into the sky?

Is it her? No, maybe it’s her. No, neither, it’s a blank canvas to me.

I can stare all I want, but the truth is that I don’t see a face, I don’t see an angel when I look into the sky. Does that mean I’m alone? Does that mean I’m not cared for?

Tears come to my eyes when I feel it, that loneliness that plagues my day-to-day life. But I don’t cry. I walk onward to the moon that shows me that I’m not completely empty, but alas, I am.

I have no love anymore, nobody would care if I disappeared one day, I’d be alone as I already am. But that thought doesn’t seem to shake me anymore, I mean, it’s been this way for years with few and short intermissions, so why fear the game you’re an expert at?

Let me generate a distinct response to the questions my soul asked me…

What is lonely? Lonely is that dark spot on the sun that sheds less light and hurts more than it helps yet gets no love from his bright neighbors for their own lights outshine him and therefore he shalt not realize that he isn’t the only spot and not the darkest, yet he still feels the desolation and isolation of what and where his position is.

Are you lonely? Am I? Aren’t we all a loner in some way? Yes, I miss the love that once flowed through my blood-thirsty veins, but since it dried out my blood hasn’t been as rich and warm as it used to, chilling my soul and bone to the core of my existence.

Do you need it? Do I? absolutely, I lust for love, desperate for the taste of it, the feel of romance is softer than that of fondue chocolate and even more sweet.

Yet it’s only a taste.

Imagine a bite of it, a bite out of love, delicious as it might be it takes up time, chunks of years, decades even, until you thrive for it in multiple lives. But I have no life to waste, yet I waste it on the search of it, why?

Not answerable by words, maybe by instinct. I love you, she said, I love you, I said, but did I mean it? Did she? My mind said no and my heart said yes, I figured that was all the answer I needed, but was it that my heart just ached for the fuel it craved? Maybe so.

Shackles on a freed soul bring problems of passed futures, new histories that have been altered based on the feelings of love. Romeo and Juliet, heaven and hell, heart and soul, All myth but with a mysterious air that brings its prey in by it’s grasps on the heart.

Loved once, loved twice, fowled heart flinging off the tip of a stadium that’ll never try to retrieve it from wherever it lands, batter shrugging and finding another heart to strike into the air making a homerun meant for her liking , but what about the discarded heart? What am I to do? I guess I’ll wait until life finds me again. 


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