Mockery of my pain, a treacherous journey of what ifs, whys and hows; a habit used by too many to avoid life’s difficult trials. Days pass with hope that it will end, bridges burned will someday mend, time telling me that it’s not real, despondency ensues, and if love does renew, just a blip ‘til silence resumes again.
Sometimes on rainy days with foggy skies, I feel the quiet with soaking skin, embrace the time to gather thoughts, walk paths on which I haven’t tread. These paths alone, longed for companions, detaching more as I press on, I hear the song within my heart, at higher frequency than most can hear.
Will the void be filled by a special one, who hears my inner screams and groans?
Desire, passion, the will to love, or will silence consume these all at once; when time shows me it’s meaningless to hope for respite in a world where euphoric pings and bells distract from what is truly wanted, crippled by fear of rejection, silence, the most wearisome life lesson.
Emily Cloward © 2018 Originally posted as a collaboration with The Literati Mafia