Loneliness (A passage written by Xerxes Break)
It is a word we tend to overlook. We as people seem to underestimate the power of this word. I ask you, however, to look more closely in to it from now on. Perhaps, you might say, I am asking you to open your other eye.
Loneliness can come in many forms, all as vicious and unforgiving as the next. It has a face in age, in poverty, in pain and even sometimes in peace. Most people do not know how devastating it can be, however.
Loneliness can eat at the heart. It can chew away the tissue and cause your blood to run short. You begin to lose your sense of self, your sense of reality.
Loneliness discriminates, because loneliness picks on the people who resent it the most.
I have made some bad choices in my life. Due to my own foolishness, I lost the people who had loved me for who I was. That is something I will never forgive myself for.
I am surrounded by people, but I am not surrounded by happiness. Those who associate themselves with me have a general resentment to who I am. They stick around out of pity.
Pity the old, lonely man. Pity him, because pity is all he has.
All he has but loneliness.
The individuals I see each and every day are dull, grey, and lifeless people. They bring forth no joy, only sorrow. Considering this, it is peculiar that I have managed to become infatuated with the most vapid of them all.
He grew from darkness, and chooses to remain in that world. I do not mind, for he brings light and color to my world that it almost blocks out who he is and who he was meant to become.
I do not believe he has ever seen them, the scars. If he has, he chooses not to mention them which is not much of his character at all. But they are everywhere. They litter my wrists, zigzag down my thighs. A lot of them are fresh. They sting. Sometimes, if they are too deep, they keep me awake at night. I do not mind, I was never much of a sleeper anyways.
They are pitiful. Pity the old, lonely man. Pity him, because pity is all he has.
All he has but loneliness.
Nobody knows about them. Nobody has ever even questioned my consistant long sleeves and my ways of only revealing my hands. Oftentimes I will become paranoid.
He is the only light in my life.
A Raven, as black as midnight and as ominous as bad luck. He shines golden down upon me. He is my counterpart. Though I regret to admit it, I would be lost without him.
He cares, for he has a tender heart. A tender heart that has not been eaten away. A tender heart that remains intact.
I do not deserve him.
Pity the old, lonely man. Pity him, for pity is all he has.
All he has but loneliness.