two points for honesty

if all of this were a novel, i'd be holding a lantern. perhaps i'd be wearing a cloak, too. everyone knows that when it's cold, dark and raining, the character in question must be holding a lantern and wearing a cloak.

but i am not so fortunate.

and this is not a novel.

this is real. this is truth. and it is dripping with loneliness.

always there is light, and through the blur i do see it. but there is that blur, always the damn blur. and the window is tightly sealed, which makes sense, except that it doesn't.

not at this house.

i've been banging and banging on the door, but somewhere the scriptures are falling short. hours, days, weeks, even months have passed and the door hasn't budged. not even a crack.

the house is full, i know it. i can see the shapes and figures moving around inside, enjoying their tea and their fire and petting their dogs and i can even hear their laughter sometimes. on occasion, they are unhappy.

but at least they are inside the house.

always on the outside looking in. always desperate for contact. always empty and always alone and now scared. but hurt more than anything.

i've been abandoned.

i hate to think this way; i hate to think it's possible. but i certainly never walked away. i've been right here the whole time. so how did i get to be so completely lost?

so many questions without answers. is this all just a cruel joke? if so, i'm still waiting for the punch line. and i'm feeling more and more like a rat in a cage, left to find the escape on my own while forced to face trials and brick walls along the way.

because that's the only thing that makes sense.

except that it doesn't.