Night time
Nights are the worst. That's when the shadows come in, when the mind doesn't shut off, and when the doubts circle 'round. Why wasn't it enough, why was it too much, what could/should/would have gone better. It always comes back to not being enough.It's hard when your mind understands one thing but your heart doesn't. The two don't gel, the beliefs clash, and one always wins out. The questions remain, and they'll never be answered, because they'll never be asked. And all the books have happy endings and they fool you into thinking life is like that. And when it's not, who's to blame? You think you are, but you can't believe that, for that's too hard a concept to swallow. You don't want the responsibility, you want to blame others and claim your innocence.
They say that the others aren't 'better' than you. They use the word 'different' instead of 'better.' But they're living your life - the life you wanted, the life you dreamed of, the life you were scared to desire. And now all you do is covet it, and wonder, and hate yourself for not being enough.
Again, with that.
And you wonder if perhaps you are to blame. Maybe just a little bit responsible? You always proclaimed you didn't want that life, that it wasn't for you, that it wasn't going to happen. Was it a self-fulfilling prophecy? For it's not happening. Maybe if you had openly chased it, you'd have it. But you'll never know if that's true, and you're still afraid to pursue it now. It never seems attainable, always slightly out of reach.
So you remain aloof and cold and hard-hearted, telling yourself that it's for the best, and it's what you really want; but at Night, it's hard to believe that. It's hard to convince yourself when you're alone in bed, reading of fairy-tale endings and true love.
The walls continue to grow taller and thicker, and even as you see it happening, it scares you, but you're unable to stop it, to slow it down, to prevent it.
If only you could sleep, sundown to sunup, perhaps these feelings would pass you by. But you can't, and they don't, and you're left rocking yourself to sleep, waiting for the sun to erase the cobwebs the Night left behind.
Until tomorrow.
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