Loneliness is something that I have grown accustomed to. Not apparent if by my own choices, but nonetheless alone. Somehow separated by decisions made. Made by me, made by someone else? I can't tell anymore. The end of all that I have loved and I have hated is close. I can feel the breath of change on my neck and I'm sorry to see it come. I have poured myself into this mold to cast my life differently from the crowd. But the view is not one that I can enjoy alone. There is no one to see the things I see, or hear the things I hear? This fear is certainly my demise. As the man waiting by the oceans edge for his ship to come in year after year, I too have been waiting. Is it by some wrong that I have commited and now reap the fruits of my labors? It's true. I've not been a saint in any definition of the word and have wronged more than a few in this life. But still is there not even another malefactor to share my misery? Here I am waiting. Waiting for my "fishie."
2 comments:
Maybe our ship sunk? We ought to build ourselves one.
Yes we'll have to if we ever want one.
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