Isn’t it true that you can only truly love yourself through another’s image?
Then how are you supposed to love yourself if you have never been loved?
No, I’m not talking about a mother’s love or a father’s or a sister’s or so on. I’m never in doubt of their love. It has always been there and always will, as I love them. It sounds spoilt, conceited, naive that the love of family isn’t enough, I know. But that is my life. I need more than that. I do not live another’s life, nor can I live by others’ rules. I cannot live on altruistic love alone, I’m not that good a person. I am a plain, humble mortal. My body craves touch, my heart has a hole I do not know how to fill. I’ve tried, to give and give, silently and in the background. I need to be active, assertive, I know!, but it alienates me from myself, makes me doubt that I’m not merely putting on a show, an illusion, of a me that isn’t there when the curtain close. I cannot deceive, I cannot ensnare another person like that. It is not a way to love. I can entertain, but in my own way. I am introvert at my core.
I have realized another way to fill that hole in my heart: that I want to receive, not just give and give anymore. Yes, I’m talking about the selfish, passionate, romantic love, or whatever you would call it. Of a stranger coming across my path. But what if that stranger never comes?
I’ve never been loved, but I’ve loved so many in my passing without they knowing it. I’ve loved briefly and passionately within a glance and without a word. I have seen them. I wanted to let them know so badly. With my eyes I pleaded silently, but they never saw. And they were already taken, already seen, already loved. It didn’t surprise me. There was no room for me.
I wonder if anyone has ever seen me? Loved me this briefly; for what ever short period … I want to know! Have my sharp eyes failed me? I should know, shouldn’t I? My self-pity commands me, howling: Don’t they see my loneliness, my despair, how hard I can be on myself because I’ve never experienced such matters and believe I may never will? Rescue me! No, don’t rescue me. I don’t know any longer.
I cannot live on this past, one misunderstood moment in my life which nobody knows of, which never was or came to be, and only hurts the more because I realized my heart and body and soul craved it so. I hardly got a taste. It was over before it begun, and it never was in the first place. It seems like a wound I cannot close; it keeps reopening. Fate is cruel to me, indeed. Let me just have another, more real, more true moment to live on. I’m not asking for anything big or lasting; a mere glance of attention, of recognition, of acknowledgement, is enough.
I cannot wring my heart like this any longer. I feel its struggle; bitterness and cynicism battling hope and naivity. Elli wrestling in a deathly dance with Thor. This young muscle, so untried. It is not ready for this dark shadow to cover it yet. Of everything unfair in life, this must be the unfairest!
All the while my incorrigible brain tries to enforce realism and reason to matters of the heart. I do not know how much longer I can bear it before I become mute, indifferent; an automaton in life.
Please, life, God, fate, whoever that listens!: Don’t give up on me! Not yet.