chapter 7, lost

Writing

Where do I begin? I’ve lived for 17 year and it’s almost 18. I’ve learned a lot and the wisdom I’ve acquired has come with its fair share of pain and broken dreams. I have this natural intelligence and an ability to create visions in a world where I lack the thing I desire but t he dreams I have give me drive. I have to make it with what I am given.  The love I am given is from my family but I desire the love of a woman, one just for me. I’ve pursued few and acquired few. I tell myself that each one is going to love me and give me the love I desire. I have given the affection and the admiration like no other. Yet I am unwanted. They always tell me that I am just a friend, I try to find reasons to stay but then I realize, why stay? Why should I stay when I feel hurt and left abandoned? They tell me someone great is coming around just for me. I don’t believe them. I believe that I am tired of looking for love in the wrong places. The places were simply dreams that I thought were dreams. Beautifully painted through my thoughts as if reality itself had dreamed of the perfection it could become. I snap myself back to reality; there is a pause within my heartbeat. I am quick to give away my love. Maybe because the only love I’ve wanted has been denied. I protect the thoughts I inevitably fall to. Dark thoughts of how I know that it will never be the way I desire it too. My mind plays deep thudding bass drums that echo throughout my soul but my heart plays brightening rhythms that give me hope. I become a leech to the kindness and affection I am given, even though little I feel wanted. Never had I been wanted, merely poised for the answers that I want the most. Just a simple yes is all I want to hear. Am I paying for the sins of my father? Is it because I carry his name that I feel there is a cure left upon my heart. As if maybe love isn’t for me. That the desire to take the pressure from another’s lips is going to be forever foreign to me. I’ll never understand everything in the world, I know that the world is broad and my life is still fairly new and undiscovered. I know I am young and stupid and reckless and full of ignorance. Have I not suffered enough to experience love though? I have wisdom, I have intelligence I have ambitions and goals. I’m not the most talented, I’m not cocky, I’m kind, I’m loving. I am bursting at the seams with potential. I have my demons, I have my bad ways. Everyone does, I speak words of hope to the ones who I see are on their knees. I know what they feel. That loneliness and sorrow, I give them words of encouragement so they can rest their tired knees and stand.

I’ll see the ones around me happy before I am happy myself; I give my friends advice and keep them standing high and prideful. Yet I am full of angst and rage, they are all happy. Where is my happiness? I’ve given away my love and affection and greatest advices. I want the world to show me love, show me the fucking love I desire. Give me everything, because I feel as though I have nothing left. I feel that sensation once more. The insanity I thought I had cured. Everything is the same, but it all feels so different.

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