Psychic Ennui

Sleep eludes me. *sigh* The air is still and chilly tonight. My writings lie unfinished on my bed, as scattered as the thoughts in my head. What is the purpose of existence? Had I been a straight male with good qualifications, the anwer to that question would probably be to get a good job, marry a sweet girl and have kids. Then I would proceed to expire. A fulfilling life indeed. Many questions form in my head tonight, and I am more than a little distracted. The stars are my faithful companions during these sleepless nights, twinkling with such elegance in the heavens. But I know that I can never be like the stars. The static life does not suit me. I am a creature of fire and passion, dynamic and instinctive. I live by instinct. The winds may pull and tug, but in the end, I can choose to lower the sails and row where my heart takes me. It just occurred to me that I lead a very Bohemian lifestyle. I guess this wandering is part of every man's journey to self-discovery. The frightening thought is...how many actually do find themselves? Realise who and what they are? Hmm. I've seen my fair share of death, and on each occassion, I've turned away to mourn the loss of life cut short, the failure to find themselves. Yet in my heart, I remember something I've read somewhere. 'The lambs of God go up to be with Him, and only the stubborn mules remain.' Something to that effect. *thoughtful* You know, fire has a very capricious nature. It can warm you on the coldest of nights, and it can also blaze out of control, scorching everything within its reach. It can go out and die without warning. Not a day goes by that I don't regret my fiery nature for scorching what I held so dear, and for killing off the fires in my heart. *sigh* The air is still and not a breeze stirs through the leaves. For the moment, my heart too is still and silent. Only the tiniest whisper of regret drifts through. The world still spins, and time slides past. I've been silently counting the years that go by. Days into months into years. Perhaps one day soon, a glorious epiphany will drop from the heavens and strike me like a bolt of lightning. Perhaps then I will be spurred on to greater heights. For now, I wheel around in the skies, free to fly but unsure of where I am headed. It's time. The wheel of time has spun, and now another year has been marked off. I do not regret leaving the old year behind, for the new year brings with it fresh hope. It is a terrible plant to tend to, hope, yet the fruit it bears is so sweet. Very well. I shall return to my writings with a calmer mind.
The years do nothing to diminish what I feel for you.