Frustrated / Wind.
It’s so confusing. I sit here in front of the PC, fingers on oily keys on a dirty black keyboard. I want to write, but I have nothing to write about. I want to think, but I don’t know what I’m thinking. I wish I could tell you how beautiful the night is, but I haven’t even looked out my window. A tempting cool breeze softly blows in through the open window diagonally across me, partially blocked by the heavy brown curtains. This is annoying. I’ve been thinking of a couple of lines… I can see them clearly written, beautiful and perfect, but the start and middle of the poem/prose is a blank white page.
I could write about how I’m still alone, and how sad it is that Love sometimes cannot be found even when you search for it. I could write about how I’ve grown even more self-reliant these last few days, and come to the realization that no matter how well someone knows me and how close they are to me, no one understands me as well as I do. The Lone Wolf once again.
I could paint yet another picture of me, alone under my beloved night sky. She reads my thoughts, and I lose myself in her countless, twinkling stars. Not a word needs to be spoken, and I’m free to think about everything… all the friends I’ve made, all the love I thought I’d found, all the sins I’ve committed, everything that shackles me, and everything that sets me free. Alone, as usual, under starry black sky, no one in my thoughts, and I in no one else’s. Come the first rays of dawn, I become the wind and blow away…