Ziel

So many people long for love, chase it, craft elaborate fantasies around it, but how many find it..?
I am not certain of the numbers-should I count on my fingers the ones who have been lucky? Too exhausting a feat, so I just begin to observe. Seeing lovers hand in hand, whispers shared under streetlights, laughter echoing beneath a midnight sky. And then there's me, always watching, always wondering.

Is it not enough to want love? To ache for it with every fiber of our being..?

Time drips like the rain outside, each moment echoing with longing. I close my eyes, crafting images behind my eyelids-my version of HIM. A silly notion really, for it must be colored by my own perceptions, my own shortfalls. Maybe it's true what they say-love is a reflection, a self-projection, and though I want to believe in the possibility, the endless potential, the doubt curls around my heart like vines choking a trellis, constricting, suffocating. Perhaps I don't truly believe I deserve love, or worse, perhaps I don't quite grasp what love is meant to be...Or maybe it isn't even a question to be answered but an experience to be lived, a fleeting moment held in the heartbeat of our very existence.