The love I truly seek

Life is my paradox.

I am caught between apposing forces that simultaneously delight and confuse my sight and feelings.

Brother, son, free-lance indentured servant for hire, counselor, replacement for ten souls that have already passed, all of these I have come to be and more.

I do not write down my thoughts on paper because journals do not have enough room for my souls .

Holding conversations with many random passerby inexcusably hold an equal amount of meaning to me if compared to socialite relationships that have been cultivated over a brief twenty-five year span.

Minutes and days look and feel the same to me.

All thoughts put to hard-copy via pen eventually start my nightly fire's pursuit of self survival.

The "American Dream" has faded but my soul's dream haunts me like a masochistic nightmare I wish to relive over and again.

The other half of my being has yet to make her appearance, insomuch I still turn over stick, leaf, and stone in the spirit of relentless pursuit.

Phantom first encounters drift across my psyche even in my sleep.

She is faceless, nameless, and to this point intangible. 

I sit in nature's on-going play and draw characteristic snippets from every marvel that lets this man discover.

From these impressions I weave a personality that I can almost behold. But never to my sight's satisfaction, as if she is just on the other side a silk veil of fog's cruel humor. Copy and pasting my simple fantasies act as a poor substitute to what I really need.

If I had the social and monetary standing to accomplish such a monumental task I would unforgettably would have never needed to write about the life that is my paradox. 

I wander to this day.