As Penn and Teller once explained, jugglers start as socially aware children who go outside and learn juggling with other children; magicians are misfits who stay in the house and teach themselves magic tricks out of spite. I’m sure we all can see which one I am.

I find myself sinking back into bitterness. I thought that I had instilled in myself several positive attitudes: “To win you must play,” “Who dares win,” amongst others. However, lately I have been feeling more reclusive…

Hollow Hopes

The sun is high
Smiling upon all
Upon all, but not I

These hearts do shine
In flight with love
Flying hearts, but not mine

I speak and lie
Of sweet sweet love
But to love, I’ve no tie

To laugh or cry
Soul mate beside
I’ve none, I know not why

I look for signs
That one exists
For no one, do I pine

But all is fine
Because I know
Love will come, in good time

The comfort and familiarity of loneliness is always there. I don’t feel the need to reach out. And who would want to listen to the rantings of a depressing young man? Nobody wants to stay under the gray cloud that hangs over my head. I don’t blame them either. I’m fully comfortable in my own little world that consists of magic, deception, and illusion.

Ifind myself becoming more cynical. I cannot deceive myself any more with the illusion that everything is fine. I feel that life is hollow. I do not feel that the world has meaning. I have come to realize the transience of our world, that nothing is permanent and everything is temporary. If I died tomorrow, I would not regret my death. And that is a scary thought.