ALONE

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view. ---Edgar Allan Poe

Indeed as you watched others' lives unfold, you condemn and bang on the invisible glass wall dividing both of you repeatedly, all the while shouting at the inanimate figure standing on the opposite glass, making the decisions you forbid them from.

Why dont you see the merits,
Why wont you see?
Do you mean to tell me,
Your decision is better than this?
I've pointed you the direction,
Why wont you take it?

But how many times have you asked that person,

What do you see lying,
So enticing beyond your choice?
Were you swayed by your reasons,
Or lured over in daze?
Have you made certain,
That your best is within?
If not so sure of your decision,
Why not listen to me?

I would persuade thus, coz I want to be convinced this way. I dont wish to be defensive, or sensitive to unintentional jabs. But I cant stare anyone right in the eye, and deny it doesnt get me every time. And so on this night, I am thinking.

If you placed on an offbeat path, separated from everyone else, by no one else but Fate itself, you would have committed some faults, would have err-ed and been wronged. But you'd learn to dust off the dirt and stem the superficial cuts. For you know nothing will strike you down, as it did the first time round. For they are all superficial. And they will heal as the cut on your knee. So you lay your head on the pebble as pillow for night, to conserve for the cunning walk ahead.

Funnily enough, I found the verbal bruises, unintentional as they were, are hurting me more than I care to say.

I may not conform to your idea of who I should have been, of which I should portray. But at least I've got my integrity to make up for my sense. I used to be proud of it.

Yet now, I find it hindering me. For too much integrity breeds pride, which masks my insecurity. Once insecurity clings onto its cause, there goes all the careful facades. It will either all fall into a pile of sticks or translate into another picture, another which I can't let go of. I doubt if I can ever.

Therefore, much as I'd love to eradicate myself of such a problem, it has proven to be impossible. For it would require a part of me I can't let go. Nor would I be willing to release.

As such the entry is confusing, the night is entering morn. My thoughts are just as halved as those night clouds swirling and mixing into dawn. So I'm up till this very moment to think things through on my own.

Thus my reason for staying up till wee hours: To think about everything I worry.

To be as worrisome as I am, its little wonder I cant sleep.