Where is it that I am now?
Where do I belong?

I carve away a niche with this rusty, broken blade,
But my hands are tired,
Riddled with cuts.
My fingers are weary,
Distorted with the effort of chipping away
At an indestructible stone.

I measure my progress
That doesn't exist
And I wonder whether
It is my tool of choice
That holds me here
Or rather
The place I am trying to remain in.


But where else can I go?
Where do I belong?

I run in place,
Exerting all effort,
All my strength,
Only to remain where I was,
Where I have been,
Where I....will be?

No.

It cannot be.

I must not stay.

But, if I leave,
Where shall I go?

I am myself, you know.
I look like my father, they say.
I talk like my mother, they say.
I possess my grandmother's sharp tongue,
And his, her, their gentle heart, they say.

I thank you for your contributions.
But you are only parts of me,
Not who I am as a whole,
Who I would,
If asked,
Use to define my existence.

It seemed not too long ago
I found my place.
A place to not only give,
But to receive.

To receive...

But you see,
I once again found myself,
As I always do,
In a place where they discover
Just how much
I am willing to give.

And they like that about me.
Most people do.

But as is human nature,
What is readily given
Becomes what is readily expected

And they, so eager to take,
Forget to give back.

Which is fine, I suppose.
I've made it twenty years living such a life.

But what I am giving...
What I have given...
What I....will give?
Never mind.
It always outweighs
What they are willing to reciprocate.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, selfish creatures.

And so I gave more than I truly had to give.

And slowly, slowly, I felt it being pulled from me.
The very lifesource which sustains me.
Like pulling the plug on a tiny drain,
It slowly seeped away.

Leaving me weak, exhausted, tearful.

Why.
Why did I give so much.
Why did I put myself here.

It is my fault, you know.

I should have learned by now.

But I am human.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, foolish creatures.

And now I find myself a lost cause,
Pondering in the cold, rainy afternoon.
Wandering down roads in my mind that
I should have,
Would have,
If I were wise,
Wandered down before letting myself
End up here.

Empty.
Drained.
Wondering.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Considering.
­
Promising myself that he would
Have none of my tears,
Oh, no,
Not him.
I said this wouldn't happen again.

I left that dark place for a reason,
I left that man for a reason,
And he,
He,
The Man of Promises,
Was supposed to be different.
Was supposed to build me up
But drains me, pulls me, pushes me,
Leaves me hovering somewhere in limbo,
Not between life and death,
No,
I am far too much alive for that.
If I were not,
It would not hurt.
But instead,
A limbo between
The elusive happiness
I have begged for,
Worked for,
Done everything for,
And the heartbreak and disappointment
That I fled from
When I left that dark place.

When I left that Dark Place,
And found the Man of Promises,
I had hope.

And it is now by the delicately woven threads
Of that foolish hope
By which I hang in this terrible limbo.

Like silk from a spider,
They are just delicate enough
To be beautiful
In their silver fragility,
But strong enough
To hold me as a prisoner here,
Waiting,
Wanting what she cannot have.

Where do I belong now?

Where is my safe place?

Perhaps there is none.

But then,
I never asked for a safe place.
I asked for a place of happiness,
Of peace that for so long
Eluded me
And from a barely tangible distance
Mocked me with fervor,
With relish,
Knowing I would continue to pursue it.

Are places of safety and happiness one in the same,
After all?
For I can find neither.

I feel that I shall always believe
That such places exist,
Even if I cannot reach them,
Like places in books I wish I could travel to,
But can only imagine myself in
As I immerse myself in the pages,
Flipping back and forth between
Places I will never see
And people I will never know.

These characters...is their reality better than mine?
Perhaps.
But isn't reality objective?
Reality is not reality, they say.
Perception is reality.

Well.
If that is true,
I must perceive things very differently
From most.

I digress.
I ramble.
But it is through these ramblings
That I find my answers.


Where do I belong?

Here.

On this page,
In these words.
This is where you will find me.

Projecting my reality,
Or perhaps creating one.
Relieving my restless mind,
Or perhaps doing it more harm.
Seeking the place I want to be,
Or perhaps leaving the one I'm meant to be in.

I do not know.

But for now,
Here is where I belong.

Honestly.
Where else could I possibly go?