I sit in a darkened room screaming to myself. I see myself crumbling apart, things that were once concrete becoming as water and running away slipping through the cracks in my fingers as I try to hold a fading wisp toegether in a vain attempt to keep what was. She's gone. There was talk and mild pain a time ago. I tried to tell myself it wouldn't happen and at times if I said it enough, I could almost believe it. As time went on there was no talk, only pain. There was no talk because I didnt want to face the fact. A lesser time ago the pain subsided, and there was hope, but hope is for the optimistic and whenever I join their ranks I am allways made to regret it. I have allways taken the bad view, the pessimist's view, the true view. Whenever I have found contentment or begun to feel secure I am stabbed by life itself, in the distance I can hear It cackle with glee. I can handle death. I can handle physical pain. I don't like death, nor the idea of death allthough the thought that there is an absolute nothingness, and end to misery and suffering and pain does ease my mind at times. I don't like pain, but I know that at least through pain I can have some feeling, something to tell me I am alive and not just a machine. I can handle mental images of homes and people being ripped to shreds of war and famine, of families torn apart, countries pillaged, cities looted. I am numb, nothing matters, I sit here talking to myself, only the friendly glow of a faithfull machine upon which my words appear and the vibrating sonics of music coursing through the room. At least the room with its machines and electricity can feel like its alive that it has a reason to live. I have nothing. The one thing that I hate more than any other image I can bring to mind is being alone. I can be in a room one-thousand miles below the earths crust, sealed in a pine box, and not feel alone. Or, I can be as I am now, surrounded by people, yet feeling alone and cold with nothing to live for but no Will to die. I have a home, school, work, friends, parents, tens of tens of people to talk to. If I want to hear a live voice I can use the phone, but the voice I want to hear I can't. The voice that is connected to the person I swore to die for is not within my reach. When you truly love someone that love will last forever. That is what is wrong with this world. People think that love can come and go. Love doesn't come and go, people just forget what love really is. In other cultures there are several different forms of love, there is love of friends, love of family, love of natural objects, and the most important, the love of a man and woman. If you love someone, let them go. If the love is true, they will return. I am alone. Alive and alone, feeling sorry for myself. Feeling that everything is out to get ME. I am remembering what it is like to be alone and how much I have allways dreaded this feeling, how much I want to feel a part of something. Some people find this in religion, but I can't be a part of something with so many flaws and so much that I can't agree with. Even my closest friends seem to be so far away. I am sewn with doubt. Stiched from head to toe with heavy chains of dread, morbid thoughs running an infinite footrace around the track in my head. I sit here with the only four companions I can truly depend on: Myself, My computer, my cat, and my music. When nothing else goes right I can allways depend on these four. With my imagination I can put muyself whereever I want, in whatever situation. Imagaine myself with anyone, doing anything, with anything. These thoughts can have plots that movie writers can't imagine. The detail of the images put cameras to shame and make computers look like cave drawings. The contents can be enough to make the wealthiest people look like people of the street. The people so beautifull and the realism so great that it hurts. I have spent years of my life inside my own head creating worlds because I didn't like the one I was put in. I read books and feed upon the ideas hungering for more, hoping that maybe one day I can slip into these worlds I create and leave this one behind. But I have also looked out and over this cold cruel world, sampled some of what had to offer. Sometimes I sampled poison, in many ways it almost killed me. Pain seemed to be all that I found, until I found something, someone else. At first I was afraid. Afraid of being bitten, and I was cruel. Then slowly in my world I began seeing this person. Several more times I left my world. Several more times I went back after causing pain. Finally, I reached out and didn't let go. In my world, my favorite image : Inside a room. Looking out through a large window. It's cold outside. The wind rushing though leafless trees. The air smells of snow, that dry and fresh smell that comes in the latest fall. It's the kind of day for a walk on the beach. The whitecaps on the water, waves crashing against the breakers spraying a mist of water giving the air a salty smell and taste. The seagulls sitting fluffed like stuffed animals on the pilings. It would also be a good day for a walk in the woods or along the edge of a field, leaves and sticks crackling under foot, a few small animals still scurrying around finding the last seeds and nuts in preperation of a long cold winter. The sky is overcast, yet its the whitish happy overcast of winter, not the dark gloom of a summer storm. I am inside. Inside it is warm. The room is fairly empty. There is a fire burning in the fireplace. I sitting on a couch, an old comforter pulled over top. She is next to me, leaning on my shoulder, asleep. I pull her a little closer, a cat is asleep on the couch, purring softly. The cat knows. Inside the room all is right. Just there, on the couch just sitting. The fire crackles some more. The cat moves a very little bit and settles back to sleep. She says something in her sleep, I kiss her hair. I am content and secure. We are whole. I know that no matter what happens on the other side of that window at least here all is well. I leave my own world and arrive into a reality that seems to burn like the fires of Hell. Can my world be to much to ask for? The great unknown, what is "ge"? I love her, so I let her go. She's not gone, just out of my reach. I remember the old saying, and hope to myself that love is as strong as I tell myself it is. I am alone in this world that I try to avoid. I feel like I am playing drunken hopscotch in a minefield. Maybe I will get my world one day, or maybe I'll slip in my game. Either way, I'll be happy.