I remember the room I used to sit in. Write. Blog. Talk. Spend my time. Looking to the walls. Talking to myself. Writing. Writing. My feelings were present. Even though there was nothing there. The loneliness and solitude brewed my feelings and made me ripe. Made me full of passion and hope. Yes hope. Hope that one day a deep pure love will take over me and carry me through all my sweet pains. And deep longing. I was hopeful of a connection. A real one. That can see through me. Penetrate me deep to where I know I exist. In this depth I survive. And I was proud. Proud of myself. Proud of these hidden gems I thought I carried. Once carried. Again longing to be explored. And I was waiting. Waiting and waiting. Full of hope. Full of certainty that I will find it. and when I do, I promised myself I will be like a drunk Sufi. Totally mesmerised in this love. In this love I will find existence. My own. I will call it my own.
And I will find home. Home that I have been chasing for the longest time. For the same hope to unveil myself. To explore my being. To unleash my potential. I think I needed help. Yes, probably that was it. I needed help. A help that was embedded in the love. A help that came from someone I totally loved. Loved because he fully understood me more that I even did to myself. A love that saw me completely. Behind my masks and my wounds and my ego, there was this hope that I will be seen. Yes again. I longed to be seen.
And I thought I found it. And I did as I promised. I gave away all myself to that love. Stopped my life for years for this love. The certainty was deep and anchored. When I met him, it was like meeting myself. Yes it was like that. This feeling that I was exactly looking for. In this moment when we just caught a glimpse of one another a deep realisation has always been ignited. Rekindled. It was a connection of a soul level. And it was not an illusion. It was real. At that time. Very real. It was able to dissolve stagnant mountains. Fear. Properness. Yes it was real. It almost pierced through all the boundaries and opened us, and me particularly, to new frontiers. To new possibilities. To promised realm. We even thought that we were really connected in heaven. But doesn't every one think like that. Well, at that time we thought we were unique. And maybe we are. But for sure we now we are not.
I am now buried under deep weight of loneliness. Still in struggle to find my space and my place. My place amongst these walls. In this space of what seems to be prison to me. This space that I escaped to when it was empty to gather myself and heal the cracks with a smile that this place will witness a born of me But it didn't . It failed me or I failed it. Or we both failed one another.
If I am ever able to put down what I really feel it will be too painful for me to express. To express the numbness I feel. The isolation I experience. The boredom that eats me alive. Day in. Day Out. The deep yearning to disappear. It does feel like a prison. A life sentence. With heavy duty. No mercy. No love. Only ego. Arrogance. Punishment. Coldness. No matter how I try, I came to the realisation that in this space, I am no body. No body to him. Nothing to him. And the minute I talk I am assured that I am alone. Alone in my endless suffering. Of what exactly? I do not really know. There is a link missing. A communication gap. Lost in the space and the void. The void that eats up my heart. Bit by bit. I cant really take the coldness I have to admit. I really cant take it. Really cant. Unable to live with it. and I am unable to have peace with it. It kills me. On a deep level. And I am not that strong or composed or cool to play along and live through this. Pretending. Or planning. Or pretending. Or even looking at the practical cause. Pragmatically and pretend that I will give my life to that cause. And in doing that, I will suck in all the pain I feel. All the loneliness that engulfs my passion. Turned me from this passionate being into a numb person. Sucked in the driving. In the coldness. In the pretending. Suffocated with the labelling and the judging. In the calculation and drawing of who I am and who I am not. Counting all my expression. Words. Spoken and unspoken.