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.