It feels like it has been years since I've cried.
Of course, it hasn't been,
but it feels so.
It's hard to be sad when so many lessons have been learned,
when "I've made it," and I'm still moving forward.
But it's foolish of me to ignore the growing loneliness,
lest it chew my insides up while I keep myself
distracted.
But it's also foolish to trade the pain I inflict on
myself for a pain yet unknown by another.
It's a cycle, yes?
We bear our own pain until it is unbearable,
trade it for pain from another,
and although it grants temporary reprieve from ourselves,
it is and will always be pain.
I'm happier alone.
And that's not to say I'm happy.
I'm not happy, and I will never be.
From my observations, I think that to be true of most people.
But that's ok.
It keeps people interested to be unhappy.
More importantly, for our own ego,
it keeps us interesting.
But I digress. Or have I?
For me to be content in my being alone and unhappy,
yet not lonely,
I would need a companion available enough to talk,
but independent enough to leave and be left be.
But when attachment is added, as it always surely is,
from me, from her,
it becomes impossible.
Or maybe it's just impossible for me.
So I get to question all things,
tear away at my thoughts and motives as usual.
But there's nothing different from that,
to question, push, leave, be alone,
and be left with nothing.
Of course, something always must come from nothing,
so how can we ever become anything when
surrounded by anything more than