Alone in the Night.

It's the same thing I'll write because I'll write it again and again, and it never stops, this, it just doesn't. A soul to be free, in infinite free, away, not here, wandering, enjoying, having. But not to be. Not this life, not the next, not in a thousand years. Grasping at nothing but the wind and the sky and the clouds, there remains only me, because life is fleeting and ever-changing and now will not be then, and there will be no then of my dreams, just another now. I try to resign myself to this fact, to make myself stop dreaming this, because it is fruitless and insane to think that I am any more than a smile. That I mean any more to a person than just a good luck charm, a worry stone, nothing more nothing less. So my feelings hide deep within me and I guard them as a starved cat would guard their last morsel. I try, but I try too hard, or not enough, and either way, the result's the same, nothing changes, and I'm stuck on the endless loop of traps and wants and needs that are never fulfilled and never will be.

Boring and pathetic, lonely, it matters not the feeling, as they start to become interchangeable, and for a few fleeting moments, a bright spot, I can live, but then, back to the endless drudgery of living, because nothing in my life stays forever, and never will, and that which I have will be gone in a moment's notice, just because, no reason needed. And I'd like to think I choose it this way, but then I dream, and I want that dream so badly, but in my heart I know it will never happen, and my head tries to convince itself that I'm being stupid.