I always find myself at a loss. For words. For the right feeling. For the right thoughts. I always feel like I come up short. Even when I feel great I know there is much more that I could be offering. I sit and wonder what to type. What kind of thoughts I should be thinking or feeling. What sums up my days. My mood. What words I could use to accurately portray the listless discontent and breezy confusion I experience on a all too usual basis. I wonder if other people feel so misplaced. I wouldn’t offer this kind of confusion up to just anyone. I wouldn’t explore these unknowns with simple probing questions. These are deep. I’d dodge the pointed questions with a laugh and a shrug and no one would ask otherwise. But i feel uneasy.
Who I try to attain seems always just out of reach. I always think that one day I’ll be able to wrap my arms around this thing… this person I want to become. My whole life there has been a certain discontent because no matter how hard I try… or fail to try… there is always something missing. I opt for the more positive approach to try of course, finding the yields slightly more satisfying. Especially to the attacks of onlookers. I can rub in my empty attempts at making myself feel like more of a person while they remain worthless in comparison. So while I strive to build onto a character I never quite grasp or understand, I remain just as discontent. I will achieve great things. There is no doubt. But there is a futile quality that inhibits certain feelings of satisfaction. Why. Why is my soul so restless. Why are there days where I am all there and others where I am everywhere but.
So no. I’m not too sure. of myself. or you. love.
William Dare 