On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter,
The thought that arise in me."
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
There it is again, my pain. Whenever it comes around, I couldn't get that sweet slumber everybody seems to experience. For quite sometime now, I've been contemplating about some things which I have nothing to do with and it makes me feel darn sad. I hurt, and the whole world was a distant planet. It was like I could only just observe the world around me, everyone and everything were so far outside this shell of pain. And all I could deal with is me and my pain.
I do not fancy having any drama in my life and yet it is what I actually undergo right now. And again, suddenly, I hate mushy things, or moments, or things, or persons, or things or anything that could, one time or another, be mushy as hell. I don't want to feel this down low because there is actually no problem with the things around me. Suddenly, I am tired of everything bad or sad that I hear from anybody, from other people or from my loved ones. Still, my heart yearns to listen to their rants. I hate everything that makes me gloomy as hell and yet it is where I stand now. I'd like to feel what I have already felt before --- when there's no room for sadness, no itch for problems, and when idling seemed to be more worthwhile --- not giving a damn for every little thing that wants to affect me.
I want to see somebody pass by me with a strong effect on my being like his passing would seem like the ceasing of an exquisite music. I want to find that ethereal air of hope that once found me. If only I could escape just like what the Little Prince did, taking advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds. Sigh. I don't want a day to come when somebody would notice I'm faking a smile.
I do not fancy having any drama in my life and yet it is what I actually undergo right now. And again, suddenly, I hate mushy things, or moments, or things, or persons, or things or anything that could, one time or another, be mushy as hell. I don't want to feel this down low because there is actually no problem with the things around me. Suddenly, I am tired of everything bad or sad that I hear from anybody, from other people or from my loved ones. Still, my heart yearns to listen to their rants. I hate everything that makes me gloomy as hell and yet it is where I stand now. I'd like to feel what I have already felt before --- when there's no room for sadness, no itch for problems, and when idling seemed to be more worthwhile --- not giving a damn for every little thing that wants to affect me.
I want to see somebody pass by me with a strong effect on my being like his passing would seem like the ceasing of an exquisite music. I want to find that ethereal air of hope that once found me. If only I could escape just like what the Little Prince did, taking advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds. Sigh. I don't want a day to come when somebody would notice I'm faking a smile.
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