A particular kind of loneliness

Complete adoration, pure and simple in its childlike joy. A serenity that is found in the comfort of affection. Perhaps I have lived far too vicar­i­ously, for no longer does the glowing sight of such a romance fill the deep hole in my heart; it is becoming a dark and consuming void.

Joy through the vicarious nature of my living is a false and fleeting joy. I observe the happiness, hoping to catch a glimpse of what may be possible in my own life. I see the warmth and the love between two people, and it brings a small light to the darkened hallway of my gloomy mind. I grav­itate towards the flicker of light, searching for what my own life may behold. The little warmth I felt, the same as a gnat does landing on the dim bulb, is no longer suffi­cient. I seek my own bright light, the warmth and joys of a romance that I can call my own. There is the single biggest question that will remain unan­swered for what will seem like an eternity: is there someone out there for me? Someone who will love me and adore me as much as I know I am capable of returning? Someone who is and can be as loyal and as devoted as I can be? More impor­tantly, is there someone who I can have such over­whelming feelings of love for? Only in reci­p­ro­cation can such immensely heart-swelling romances be nourished…

I can only hope that I will feel the radiance of love. But I have no faith in fate or the forces of supreme beings. Patience, thought it may be a virtue, seems to be in short supply. The temporary feelings of happiness that arose when I saw the two finally come together quickly crumbled, giving way to envy and frus­tration. I seek the same that I observe…perhaps even more, as my heart is unending, a veri­table well of love. I wish not to be loved, but first and foremost for my love to be received.

It does not please me to see that, in the recog­nition of the void in my spirit, I develop feelings that foster a certain darkness. In seeing what is, I see in my own life what is not. And it is this void that aches to be filled…again, the lone­liness has returned, a familiar visitor. Perhaps it is time to make it a welcome and permanent guest in the empty house that is my hollow heart.