Darkness and solitude are usually components of my personal haven. Sitting here in the wee morning hours, awash in the glow of my monitor, peeking out the windows in front of me and seeing a solitary star winking brightly at me, as if sharing a naughty secret. I look away for a moment to pick up a cigarette and light it, and when I look out the window again, there's nothing but darkness. Not even the velvety, alluring kind of black--all I see is the cardboard-kind of black; no personality, no hint of allure whatsoever. Damn those clouds that sneak up to hide a source of illumination that keeps me tethered (albeit thinly, it seems) to this unreasonable and inexplicable feeling of comfort.
There are times when a person gives out vibes that he or she is okay, that all is well--and mostly it's true. He or she is blessed with good health, family, a good quality of life. Sometimes, though, a teeny tiny bit of the inner sadness and loneliness make themselves manifest, which then for some reason provoke denigrating (though humorous and well-meaning comments) from a friend. And it hurts.
It hurts almost as much as looking out the window and seeing only a uniform, depressing blackness. Niggling thoughts arise, unbidden, if the star that acts as my lodestone is twinkling and shining as brightly as ever--even without my seeing it. And whether it brings the same radiance to others as it does to me. Me, me, me. I, I, I. When will I realize and accept it isn't about me, that I have no abso-fucking-lutely part in the dynamics of how brightly or dimly a star shines? That it will go on lighting up the heavens with or without me?
I can't help it. Can't help looking out the window, getting a crick in my neck searching for it. Waiting for it, waiting for nothing, maybe.
Nope, absolutely nothing out there.