Random Thoughts
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet, if we could scorn
Hate and pride and fear,
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Shelley's Ode to a Skaylark. A very small part of it, more accurately. Anyway, I was reading old posts and old AIM conversations, and I'm now filled with a deeper sadness than I can remember having ever felt in a long time. I've been sad in recent months, granted, but such sadness seems to me like a sharp blow. Quick and painful, but not permanent. What I feel now is like an ache that has settled over my heart, and will not be dislodged by anything save time itself. I can see what kind of person I was, and what kind of person I've become, and am filled with a profound confusion and melancholy. And for Christ's sake, I sound like Victor Frankenstein. Oh, my melancholy and angst! I'm a selfish monster that sired a selfish monster! Woe is me!
Thank God no one reads this anymore. There was a time I would have been ridiculed for writing what I just have, and perhaps not unfairly. But which is worse? Having your words greeted by harsh criticism, or deafening silence? Who am I to say?
I need a hug now more than I can ever remember having needed one before. But my memory seems to fade after a few months back, so that means little, if it means anything at all. Consider this a plea. A cry for help, of the simplest, most non-urgent sort. Somebody give me a hug, before something terrible happens. Before I overcome my emotions, move on with my life, and forget that a hug is a gift of the most precious sort. Touch me before I begin to take touch for granted again.
The most beautifully ironic part of this all? If anyone at all still reads this, and I doubt that there's more than one or two who do, if even that, they are not within several hundred miles of me.
Dear God, I want to sleep.
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet, if we could scorn
Hate and pride and fear,
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Shelley's Ode to a Skaylark. A very small part of it, more accurately. Anyway, I was reading old posts and old AIM conversations, and I'm now filled with a deeper sadness than I can remember having ever felt in a long time. I've been sad in recent months, granted, but such sadness seems to me like a sharp blow. Quick and painful, but not permanent. What I feel now is like an ache that has settled over my heart, and will not be dislodged by anything save time itself. I can see what kind of person I was, and what kind of person I've become, and am filled with a profound confusion and melancholy. And for Christ's sake, I sound like Victor Frankenstein. Oh, my melancholy and angst! I'm a selfish monster that sired a selfish monster! Woe is me!
Thank God no one reads this anymore. There was a time I would have been ridiculed for writing what I just have, and perhaps not unfairly. But which is worse? Having your words greeted by harsh criticism, or deafening silence? Who am I to say?
I need a hug now more than I can ever remember having needed one before. But my memory seems to fade after a few months back, so that means little, if it means anything at all. Consider this a plea. A cry for help, of the simplest, most non-urgent sort. Somebody give me a hug, before something terrible happens. Before I overcome my emotions, move on with my life, and forget that a hug is a gift of the most precious sort. Touch me before I begin to take touch for granted again.
The most beautifully ironic part of this all? If anyone at all still reads this, and I doubt that there's more than one or two who do, if even that, they are not within several hundred miles of me.
Dear God, I want to sleep.