Psychic Blues

A week passed, then two. By the third week, I can no longer hold out hope that an unnamed angel will return to shield me from the darkness that so often surrounds me. I feel so small, insignificant. A child of the universe. I have been let loose upon the world, with no one to guide me in what I say or do. Perhaps that is why I come across as warped to most people. That is not why I whisper his name tonight, the uncaring breezes snatching my whispers away and scattering them far away from where I sit and stare at the moon. An unnatural chill descends over me, and I fear that when morning comes, I will not be strong enough. I am not good enough. I fell, again and again, and always, there were angels in mortal guises who helped me rise again from the ashes. I have ignored all the issues demanding my attention, with the result that they have now coalesced to form a towering entity composed solely of depressing problems. I wish to run into his arms, his warmth and comfort soothing me wordlessly. He does not need to speak; all he has to do is look at me with those dancing eyes, and I am calm, even as I fall deeper in love with him. And it is true that I love him, regardless of what has happened, or the words that were spoken. It is also true that I have lost him, and that this loss pains me greatly. I tried seeking out old sources of comfort, but time has always been cruel to me. I do not notice his passing, and he mocks me by altering everything and everyone else beyond recognition. I remain the same, even though the years pass...but I forget that everything else changes. A deep sadness envelops me tonight, as I turn away from the light of the moon and confine my wanderings within my empty room. The black and white monstrosity lies forsaken next to me as I type away. My books are neatly packed away, and I am restlessly watching the seconds tick by, closing my eyes as I put everything I have into one last, desperate telepathic call to an angel who has already ascended far away from where I reside. I am so tired of being the enfant terrible. In my mind, as I walked down the reservoir, and she smiled at me, pointed teeth agleam, I thought of Justin. And my self started to glow, as only love's kavach can glow, and I knew then I couldn't be touched, not while I still have love for this boy. It is untrue that my love is false, because it protected me as I walked past shadowed halls and vengeful souls. Yet it is a double-edged sword. It protected me, yes. But it is also the reason why I fell in the first place. It rips me apart, knowing that I, who had sworn to protect him from the harshness of life, could not protect him from myself. It frightens me, to know that I will love him for years to come. Stupid word, love. It amuses me to see it get tossed around so carelessly by people who have never felt its burn, have never felt the depths of that one simple emotion. Yet it also irritates me. They know nothing about the thorns that come with the rose. *sigh* Blues and blacks colour my aura tonight. How can I tell him how much he means to me, and how sorry I am? There is a vast rift between us that I'm afraid I cannot bridge. I am condemned to a lifetime of regret. Undying love isn't all that they make it out to be, eh? *bitter sigh* I pray the sun's light will burn this dark melancholy away from me.
Morning will come, and I'll do what's right.
Just give me till then to give up this fight.