clinging to the wreckage

I sit here in the early morning darkness, sipping a cup of coffee that reminds me of the desolate isolation that encompasses me now and stretches out before me like a vast and empty ocean. The love in my life, the beauty of youth, has departed to find fulfilment in other people and things but I am kept company by this familiar feeling of loss and sadness. There is relief too for there is no longer pressure to provide happiness or comfort or love or laughter or hope or help to another one so close and so meaningful. I gave all I could but ultimately loved too much and hoped for too much love in return. Too much love is like none at all, it pushes people away and sends them spiralling into the wilderness of dreams of something better. We spend much of our lives searching for better but when we finally find it, we find it in someone who is searching for better. We all lose.

Christ, I am so tired of seeing the photos of their meaningless perpetuation. Perpetuation of the suffering, the banality, the tradition, the blind following of faith and instinct and rules and dogma and orthodoxy. Perpetuation of stupidity, of poverty, of grim hopeless pathetic reality. And when I say ‘Christ’, I speak not of their Christ, I speak of some other weak and hopeless feeble Christ who will just as much listen to my pleas for help as will theirs. I am tired of it all… tired of them all… just tired.