I need to write; to share my thoughts.

I hide, alone, in the dark basement, from the outside. It rains. Cold. Straight. Breathing life into the soil. Big questions, this picture that is hard to define.

I long to work, to apply a passion towards something, spontaneous desires eluding this aim. What is life? The simple joy, the fire and passion of extraordinary events?

A world in war and chaos elicits passion through stress. Emotions running high, hard and fast, in the game of life, love, betrayal and death. Never knowing if there will be a return, ever hoping for a joyous reunion. In times of peace, this fades, love becoming commonplace, taken for granted. What is life without passion? Hollow shells, whistling into the crashing waves. No reason to fight, to try, to bother.

This year has been one of distraction. Every wedding photo brings heartache at what I sorely lack. News of engagements and loves meeting splits me with both joy at their happiness, and pangs of personal deficiencies. Reviewing past possibilities, and how I manufactured them forfeit. Loneliness by my own hand.

Enter hope. Longings for pastures glistening in the dew, far away. The possibilities, the potential. Yet I understand this is not the answer. How can one meet cute outside the movies, or in short passings. How can love develop, when time is limited. I age, and still nothing changes. Childlike fear within. Outside, the world keeps breathing.

Even so, the longing extends, as it has grown for years, setting down roots. The desire to share the earth, and all its joys with new faces. To help them learn, aiding their run through the phases of life. Relive and share the wonder of discovery and exploration. But not alone. Not without another.

Sitting on the fence, watching as others pass the time. Living through eyes, words, sounds, stories that are not my own. Unsure, uncertain. Buildings barriers of self defense, knowing they lead to a meaningless grave, as others before have and continue to do. Afraid to attempt otherwise.

What is important? How does one decide? How is luck made? Where does courage come from?

And here I sit, viewing dresses I have not worn.