Some days.

I wonder about things. When I have time to really think about the non-mundane. About what I live for, what I stand for. What I believe in. What takes over my life sometimes, if I allow it to. It's funny the way we as people are so fragile. The Greeks saw it. Our lives literally do dangle from a thread. And it makes us so nervous, so scared, to even contemplate who holds the scissors. We fight, we debate, we kill.

I'm all over the place today. For now, I simply wish to lose myself in a jumble of words and feelings, emotions and thoughts going through my twisted mind. Oh these thoughts, those images deep within my minds eye, how they reverberate, how they flicker into something and disappear into nothing. Deep within the depths that are a mystery. I just want clarity. I want some beautiful effervescent light to overcome my soul and fill me until I am whole.

What is it a about human beings that is such a mystery?
Why does love cause us to become such psychopathic maniacs with strange habits and depressions? With our lusts and pleasures and lies? Is that not the perennial question? Probably not. But I know that it's definitely up there.

Despair. I have known despair.
Could you call it post-adolescent existential crisis in conjunction with unrequited -or perhaps lost- love-induced despair?
Perhaps. I know it's what everyone around me thought. I suppose it was the easiest thing to assume, the most natural path that any loss such as the ones I suffered -in succession- to be taken.
I like to think it wasn't just that though. Perhaps it's my constant desire and belief that I am different than all others around me.

My newspaper advisor -and friend- used to tell me that it was self-induced elitism. A desire to willingly segregate myself and my doings, my personality, from the norm. He may have been right, though I don't like to think so. Not exactly, at least.
Yes, my choices in apparel, music, even the food I eat are different, but I like to think that it's just because I am.
The despair, that was all me.

Not to say that others besides myself have known it, no, that would be incredibly high of me, I think. Though I know that there are few of us in the world. Kindred spirits are rare. When speaking to one who has known despair and utter hopelessness...it's comforting to find solace in the words of such a person. Old souls, that's what we are.
Old. Tired.
Perhaps that's why I have such a deep love for books; to know the history and stories of old...to know what they did in the past, how they dealt with what I deal with now. How they solved it. If only I knew. If only anyone knew.

But oh, the despair. I call upon that feeling now. I truly do wish to translate that biting emotion into a clear picture, into these words. I want you to feel it with me.
Not suffer, never that. I'd never inflict such a feeling upon another soul, not even one I disliked.
No. I wish us to be kindred spirits. I wish all to know that life is short, that love is out there, somewhere. That in our despair we may find solace in what is truly important in this short time, this short spark of life that we have in our hands. That we believe to hold in our hands, though powerless we are. So powerless.

It's awe-inspiring, though. True beauty in life. At times I laugh at the world, at what I see all around me, when I observe people in their quest to reach a certain ideal of what they believe true beauty to be.
If only we knew. We're so blind.
We're all little children running around helpless, looking for a hand to hold on to. Looking for direction, guidance.
We are lost.
Pound and Hemingway and Fitzgerald and all of them were wrong when they called themselves lost. They were just the beginning. We're in a maze and we're not getting out anytime soon.