How many people feel like they are the most hurt, the most unloved, the most rejected, the most ignored, the most unlucky, the most disappointed and disappointing? A lot, probably. I am not the most of any of these, of anything.
I am unsatisfyingly in between. I am not the worst, I am not the best. There are many here with me, such is the nature of being unwillingly part of a kind. But, nevertheless, I am surrounded, which makes it worse. I don’t like to be with many.
Curse my belief that everything that happens, happens. That it’s supposed to. That there is a grand orchestration to this life and existence and the universe and the other universes. But bless it also. It gives me a great deal of grief, but also that thread of hope. And it won’t cut. Not until a crushing blow is dealt. And, thus, it gives me great dread as well. Two big bads, and a small, flickering good.
Please be good. And not in a general sense, or in a different direction. Be it to me, for me, at me. Intensely. Imperatively. On purpose. Don’t deal that blow, even if you don’t know you are doing it. I implore you. Please.
I could live forever on a crumb, on a smile, on a word. But I could perish if you turn away with finality. In this miserable and damp limbo, I could remain. I don’t want it, but I will abide it to avoid utter decimation. Give me another option?
And of course it seems like I am being too dramatic. I am.