Monotone, monosong
Friday nights are all the same.
My body embodies irony
As the pressure of nothing grows.
Lyrics all sound the same
In the space of the nothing.
Though in the minor key
Comfort, for someone feels the same.

There’s a hole inside my chest,
Around where my heart beats,
With a rhythm all it’s own,
It shrinks and it grows.

If only I could hold someone,
Hold them close and hold them long,
Maybe then the hole would clot up,
Then would I feel whole?

Theologically, I know,
God should be enough…
I do hold Him close,
And in Him I trust…
But He doesn’t always fill this hole,
This hole I always feel…

There is one I always think of,
One I hope might fill me up.
She doesn’t know how I feel,
Nor that I feel at all.

I want to hold a body close,
And fill this aching hole.
Someone who will understand,
Someone who’ll make me whole.

The finish line is a mirage,
A cruel joke played upon my mind.
I don’t know what it looks like,
And it stays always at a distance.

The finish line is a fluid concept,
Changing shape every time I approach.
It is at times a beauty in form,
Though always an abstraction.

The finish line leaves me running,
Escaping what first set me off.
I wonder what it is I run from,
Hoping against hope it is not the finish line.

Like New York in winter
People are shallow
Empty tombs without souls
The horizon hides from me…
teasing.

Like Coney Island in the rain
Streets are abandoned
Shops are closed up
Childhood stares me in the eye…
mocking.

It’s a cold place
This land of opportunity
Where do the dreamers go
When dreams are gone…
defeated.

My sweet dream
Where have you gone?
Once my strength, I clung to you
Like a beggar to a penny

My eyes dart around the room
A mellowness moans in stereo
How long have you been gone?
A smile forms on my lips

Somehow I don’t miss you
My life is still warm
I have all I need
I need you no longer

Thus, I bid thee farewell
From a dreamer to a dream,
Once a comfort,
Now a sweet memory.

My friends come to me with girl problems.
My friends vent about their frustrations.
My friends express feelings of inadequecy
and pain, the same I have always felt.
I almost laughed today.

Why do some guys get so wrecked
just because they’ve met an awesome girl?
Why do some guys become defeatist
and believe the girl is too good for them?

Why do I sound like a self-help book
when I talk to guys like these?
Why don’t I believe the same things I say
about girls when it comes to me?

I thought about my life today.
I thought about relationships and girls.
I thought about my persistant loneliness,
and why I seem so adament about keeping it.
I almost cried today.

Her eyes glisten when she smiles.
The power of her smile emanates,
almost as an aura of positivity,
engulfing everyone around.

She smiles at me.
Her long hair, still shiny and wet,
gracefully falls upon her shoulder
and spills down her backside.

Her smile makes me melt.
When we make small talk,
she pretends to care about what I say,
but it always seems to stop there.

Her smiles are genuine.
It makes me want to reach out,
and learn what motivates those lips
to move in that perfect formation.

The smile leaves the room with her.
I ache and I long for its return,
hoping that one day I can truly know
the beauty behind the smile.

I’ve never been romantically close to anyone,
but it’s not like I’ve never been close to someone.
The temptation does exist, however,
to believe that I don’t know how to get close.

Though I try, I don’t understand the mechanisms.
Who does what, and how does the process work?
What is the difference between getting to know someone,
and getting to know someone romantically?

Is there a difference?
How do you differentiate when you’ve just met?
How do you correct the course when you decide?
Or is it too late once you’ve started?

Perhaps I am overanalyzing in asking these questions.
Perhaps I am ignoring the smallest details.
Perhaps I am so critical I can’t see what is in front of me.
Perhaps I am full of shit.

I want to get married.
I want to have children.
I want to have someone to hold in my arms,
through the night until morning comes.

I know God has someone for me, somewhere out there.
At least, that’s what I try to convince myself of.
Truth is, I’m no longer convinced.

What does one do when faced with two paths?
Both paths appear pleasant and good,
but what do you do when you can’t decide?
Taking one path would inevitably leave me wondering…
...what would have happened if I took the other path?

So often I find myself not going down any path.
No matter how beautiful the rose lined path may be,
I can’t see more than a few feet ahead of me.
It is so much easier to sit where I am,
but sitting where I am is boring and dull…

And the paths that lay before me are beautiful and bright.
I wish I could just choose one and be on my merry way,
but instead I sit here, staring at the fork in the road.
Do I go the way I know, no matter how turbulent,
or do I go the way that’s new and completely uncharted?

I don’t know how to choose the path,
both are beautiful…

...and I am not.

I am in love with the idea of a girl.
She’s based in reality, but she may be fiction.
The thought of her comes and goes.
For three years now, she has come and gone.
Am I in love with her?
Or just the idea of her?

Is she as sweet as I remember her?
Are her insecurities still as cute as the day we met?
Does her boyfriend know I’m asking these questions?
We don’t speak often.
Circumstances and distances prohibit it,
But I do think of her often.

I struggle with anxiety.
But what am I anxious for?
What am I anxious about?
Could it be that I strive day after day,
working towards a vaguely defined goal,
and I no longer know why?

Could it be I just want someone to share it with,
the struggles, the achievements, the losses, the victories?
Could she be the one,
the one to save me from myself?
I no longer profess to know much of anything,
I just exist.

But there has to be more to existance.
Existance alone leads to anxiety.
I don’t want to be alone.
Could she be the one to save me from myself?
Or have I just created a magical fiction?
After all, I AM in love with the idea of a girl.