Post by Kael Serasai on Mar 1, 2012 21:16:20 GMT -5
I won't be pretentious and pretend to have discovered the true meaning of hollow. I'm well aware of what it means to feel, and it's those feelings which instead force me to describe myself, not as empty, but in utter turmoil. I've always been a very emotional person, so much so that at the best of times I enjoy speaking about those emotions as openly as casual acquaintances make small-talk about the weather. At the worst of times, I allow those emotions to govern me, whether it be by spinning into a blind fury wrought by frustration, or wallowing, listening to increasingly-slow songs from which I draw - and sometimes fabricate - deeper, personal resonance.
Already I hear you're mumbles of indifference, agreeing with your peers - or just yourselves - that everybody acts in this way, that I'm no different to anybody else of my age or mentality. And happily I'd agree, were it not for the unrelenting insistence nagging at the far corners of my mind that I cannot be compared to the unthinking, maddeningly-ignorant masses. It's my deepest flaw, a trench of self-absorbed egotism that runs so deep I don't even know where it originated, only that it consumes my every feeling toward others when trying to view them in an equal light.
It's only recently that I've begun to accept, that for all my delusions of superiority, I am infact as fallible and prone to self-inflicted deprecation as any other human being. I deplore the nuances of our societal needs and qualms, yet I find myself falling victim to them every day. Worse, by the stubborn continuation of my mundane job, I help promote them. Given to baser circumstances, I like to imagine that humanity would evolve beyond the concepts thrust upon it; concepts such as monetary gain and value, choice of nourishment, respect for superiority. But one thing I cannot bring myself to accept as a casualty of my self-made, pure, primitively led world is love. Perhaps it's because I've never experienced it, at least not in the way I'd like. But it's what gnaws at me now, this very second, casting aside all my horrific notions of a world gone backward, my ideals and beliefs buried beneath the huge, crushing weight which threatens to tear me apart at the seams.
As I've said, I'm an emotional person; so in touch with my emotions, that it takes little for me to feel them to the extreme.
When I was four years old, I fell in love. Laughable to most people, I know. How could someone so young feel something he had no understanding of? Well, understood or not, I felt it, and to this day I remember the knot in my chest, the conviction that, when that person moved away, my whole world was ending. It's a feeling embedded within me, tormenting me even to this day, as I wade through the muddy waters of existence grasping at air, hoping my hand will close around the hand of another before I'm sucked, suffocating, into the murk. Most times I spend in resolute, stoic silence, for fear that opening my mouth will expose the yearning at my core. Other times, words spill unrefined from my intoxicated lips, barraging those subjected to them with notions they can conceive of only as ridiculous and dramatic. Platitudes will do nothing to subdue me; I've craved this too long, lived my life bearing the weight of unrequited needs and desires. Even now, as the tears roll down my warm cheeks and leave their mark upon my shirt, I know the brief reprieve they'll provide won't last long.
Perhaps, worsening the pit within my chest, is the knowledge that recently life dealt me one of it's agonising taunts. Perhaps, if some higher being exists out there, it is toying with me for years of bile and complete disregard for anything but myself and what pleasures I can elicit. Like an obscure figure from unpopularised Greek legend, my denial of anything but the self is being repaid tenfold by whatever decides these things.
I remember, upon his waking, those crystalline eyes gazing at me shyly from beneath the covers which had so recently borne witness to passions unleashed. For the briefest of moments I witnessed my own eyes staring back at me through the eyes of another, felt the gentle caress of fingers intertwining with my own, the warmth of his body beside me, around me, beneath me...
I treasured it even more than the unabated thunderstorm of unforseen events which had happened between us. I treasured it as I treasured his breath on the back of my neck as he slept, his semi-conscious hands grabbing for mine, holding me close, as though perhaps he too had been wanting what I so deperately yearn for...
I knew then, as I still know now, there was more to our encounter than casual exploration. Yet his silence, his cold aloofness, stings deeper than if he'd leaped out of my bed that morning and vowed never to look me in the eye again. I wish I'd prepared for the intensity which was about to be thrust upon me, the magnitude with which my hunger would strike, as it has never struck before. Unfortunately, the realist in me knows that if I had the chance to undo what happened, I wouldn't take it. Instead, I'd batten down the hatches, and prepare myself for the utter heartache to follow. Because, as a self-described lovesick idiot, it's what I'm best at.
Already I hear you're mumbles of indifference, agreeing with your peers - or just yourselves - that everybody acts in this way, that I'm no different to anybody else of my age or mentality. And happily I'd agree, were it not for the unrelenting insistence nagging at the far corners of my mind that I cannot be compared to the unthinking, maddeningly-ignorant masses. It's my deepest flaw, a trench of self-absorbed egotism that runs so deep I don't even know where it originated, only that it consumes my every feeling toward others when trying to view them in an equal light.
It's only recently that I've begun to accept, that for all my delusions of superiority, I am infact as fallible and prone to self-inflicted deprecation as any other human being. I deplore the nuances of our societal needs and qualms, yet I find myself falling victim to them every day. Worse, by the stubborn continuation of my mundane job, I help promote them. Given to baser circumstances, I like to imagine that humanity would evolve beyond the concepts thrust upon it; concepts such as monetary gain and value, choice of nourishment, respect for superiority. But one thing I cannot bring myself to accept as a casualty of my self-made, pure, primitively led world is love. Perhaps it's because I've never experienced it, at least not in the way I'd like. But it's what gnaws at me now, this very second, casting aside all my horrific notions of a world gone backward, my ideals and beliefs buried beneath the huge, crushing weight which threatens to tear me apart at the seams.
As I've said, I'm an emotional person; so in touch with my emotions, that it takes little for me to feel them to the extreme.
When I was four years old, I fell in love. Laughable to most people, I know. How could someone so young feel something he had no understanding of? Well, understood or not, I felt it, and to this day I remember the knot in my chest, the conviction that, when that person moved away, my whole world was ending. It's a feeling embedded within me, tormenting me even to this day, as I wade through the muddy waters of existence grasping at air, hoping my hand will close around the hand of another before I'm sucked, suffocating, into the murk. Most times I spend in resolute, stoic silence, for fear that opening my mouth will expose the yearning at my core. Other times, words spill unrefined from my intoxicated lips, barraging those subjected to them with notions they can conceive of only as ridiculous and dramatic. Platitudes will do nothing to subdue me; I've craved this too long, lived my life bearing the weight of unrequited needs and desires. Even now, as the tears roll down my warm cheeks and leave their mark upon my shirt, I know the brief reprieve they'll provide won't last long.
Perhaps, worsening the pit within my chest, is the knowledge that recently life dealt me one of it's agonising taunts. Perhaps, if some higher being exists out there, it is toying with me for years of bile and complete disregard for anything but myself and what pleasures I can elicit. Like an obscure figure from unpopularised Greek legend, my denial of anything but the self is being repaid tenfold by whatever decides these things.
I remember, upon his waking, those crystalline eyes gazing at me shyly from beneath the covers which had so recently borne witness to passions unleashed. For the briefest of moments I witnessed my own eyes staring back at me through the eyes of another, felt the gentle caress of fingers intertwining with my own, the warmth of his body beside me, around me, beneath me...
I treasured it even more than the unabated thunderstorm of unforseen events which had happened between us. I treasured it as I treasured his breath on the back of my neck as he slept, his semi-conscious hands grabbing for mine, holding me close, as though perhaps he too had been wanting what I so deperately yearn for...
I knew then, as I still know now, there was more to our encounter than casual exploration. Yet his silence, his cold aloofness, stings deeper than if he'd leaped out of my bed that morning and vowed never to look me in the eye again. I wish I'd prepared for the intensity which was about to be thrust upon me, the magnitude with which my hunger would strike, as it has never struck before. Unfortunately, the realist in me knows that if I had the chance to undo what happened, I wouldn't take it. Instead, I'd batten down the hatches, and prepare myself for the utter heartache to follow. Because, as a self-described lovesick idiot, it's what I'm best at.