It’s the curse of the introspective introvert. You crave attention, but don’t want anyone to know. You need someone to talk to, but have to hide the tears. Oh wait, men don’t cry. Never mind. It’s okay. It’s alright. Will something go away if you just ignore it? I don’t want to face the facts, but sooner or later something will have to be done. Unrequited love enjoys company, and now both of us are lost in this sea of confusion. Drowning to save, and saving to drown. What’s the answer Lord, I just don’t know. I scream and holler, ‘Why?” and the still night responds with the unbroken quiet. And so I stop thinking about it, and maybe it’ll go away. What do I want? I just don’t know. Is that even the right question to ask? Popular culture would laugh at me for even doubting. And it’s all too confusing in its deep, mysterious ways. Would someone please turn the light on?

“I have found that I will never have anything until I have nothing of me.” (“Soul of Letters” by Ben Kyle)