Am I considered "beautiful"? Does what I've been through in life qualify? Do I fit the bill, or am I only finding a way to lift my esteem? Is this another bout of self pity?

Maybe that's why I enjoy army life. Less time to meddle with such thoughts. Am always trying to find ways to be better, to be esteemed, to be loved. Yet at other times, I feel tired, tired of responding to people as social norms of reciprocity dictates. Am I being ungrateful then, or perhaps picky. Does it then mean it's no longer a need but a selfish want? After all there's people who do pursue me no? What exactly am I searching for?

In my small pockets of time, recurring thoughts keep flashing my mind. "Who do I have to call my own?" I brushed it off as homesickness yet I knew there was an inner truth asking. Looking around, I see my mates eagerly awaiting the day they could see or call their friends and loved ones, preoccupied with their phones and laptops. I wondered to myself who was I looking forward to when I book out. The words "friends" came to mind. The sad thing however, was that I couldn't make any clear image of who the faces of these "friends" were. Surely some names came to mind, but I did consider, do they only come to mind first because I'm routinely used to be around them, or that they truly meant something to me.

What does it truly mean to love someone? Did I love anyone? Does anyone love me? Answers I couldn't see, and didn't want to see. Maybe loneliness has taken a deep bite out of me, my defense mechanism plays out a mental fantasy to block and circumvent the depth of these pains.

Maybe if I choose to see myself squarely face to face, behind the presentable make up, I see a pathetic soul clamouring to be loved, yet dares not be. Abandonment and loneliness are engraved in the wrinkles of his shriveled skin, his unsightly body half cloaked under a dim shadow. His tears bearing the physical manifestation of the dream in his yearning heart. Would anyone come to hold him in his broken state? Would anyone hold him like a prized jewel, passionately yet tenderly loved. And so he waits earnestly day by day that he might finally find that one person. And so he waits.

 Am I considered "beautiful"? Does what I've been through in life qualify? Do I fit the bill, or am I only finding a way to lift my esteem? Is this another bout of self pity?

Maybe that's why I enjoy army life. Less time to meddle with such thoughts. Am always trying to find ways to be better, to be esteemed, to be loved. Yet at other times, I feel tired, tired of responding to people as social norms of reciprocity dictates. Am I being ungrateful then, or perhaps picky. Does it then mean it's no longer a need but a selfish want? After all there's people who do pursue me no? What exactly am I searching for?

In my small pockets of time, recurring thoughts keep flashing my mind. "Who do I have to call my own?" I brushed it off as homesickness yet I knew there was an inner truth asking. Looking around, I see my mates eagerly awaiting the day they could see or call their friends and loved ones, preoccupied with their phones and laptops. I wondered to myself who was I looking forward to when I book out. The words "friends" came to mind. The sad thing however, was that I couldn't make any clear image of who the faces of these "friends" were. Surely some names came to mind, but I did consider, do they only come to mind first because I'm routinely used to be around them, or that they truly meant something to me.

What does it truly mean to love someone? Did I love anyone? Does anyone love me? Answers I couldn't see, and didn't want to see. Maybe loneliness has taken a deep bite out of me, my defense mechanism plays out a mental fantasy to block and circumvent the depth of these pains.

Maybe if I choose to see myself squarely face to face, behind the presentable make up, I see a pathetic soul clamouring to be loved, yet dares not be. Abandonment and loneliness are engraved in the wrinkles of his shriveled skin, his unsightly body half cloaked under a dim shadow. His tears bearing the physical manifestation of the dream in his yearning heart. Would anyone come to hold him in his broken state? Would anyone hold him like a prized jewel, passionately yet tenderly loved. And so he waits earnestly day by day that he might finally find that one person. And so he waits.