Desolation

Desolation

26 September 1989

19 years old

Lonely. It gets so lonely. I call old friends, but they’re not home. No, no. That’s okay. I don’t want to leave a message.

During these moments of stillness and quiet, I feel the emptiness where part of me has been rudely ripped away and placed somewhere beyond my reach. Sometimes I can see it, touch it, hold it, but we’re forced to remain apart. During those times, the loneliness gives way to love and happiness. But still, it looms there at the back of my mind like a bleak, black cloud promising days of gloom ahead. It casts its shadow over my happiness, darkening my day.

I try to ignore it, and at first it works. But as the day wears on, the silence ensues, bringing to mind our impending departure. Once again, it’s ripped from my tenuous grasp, leaving me wounded, bleeding, crying in the darkness.

But one day, we will be rejoined, and the cloud will disperse forever and ever.