The Search of a Lifetime

I have been searching for you in every soul I encounter.

Perhaps, it is a self-serving agenda crafted to satisfy a hollowed heart. Perhaps, it is a product of a romanticisation so strong it swallows the reality around it.

Perhaps, it is an innocent act of rebellion. Perhaps, it is an escapade for a soul so curious of what the world has to offer beyond materiality.

Perhaps, it is anger. Perhaps, it is pointless.

There is no answer beyond wonder. If there was one, there is nothing so simple to encapsulate a search for something that was never based in its inception. One questioned if it was fear which served as an obstacle to what could have been a history. One did wonder if the circumstances allowed for an alternative outcome, would there be a difference?

In the end what is left is a thread. A thread which barely sustain the weight of what it is bridging. If there is anything there at all… or what’s left of it. A play pretend, hollowed words presented as if it is sincere — or perhaps it is but we can never be sure when the foundation of what’s important already has cracks — remarks stated as if they were meaningful.

Promises upon promises expressed resembling desperate prayers. Every action carried so much yet the conveyance bares hollowness. Empty. A filler. A goner. Over.

Nothing. It means nothing.

Though the waves in which it is ridden is the very cause of the destruction, the craving for the affliction is bigger than the truth which begs to be let go. The realisation that to feel nothing at all is horrifying drives the begging to come and be cut open.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Slice it open. Rip it to pieces. Shred it. As long as there is something there to endure.

Every soul who bares themselves open, offering a chance of renewal are a vessel for the yearning heart which begs for its replacement. To search for what is not there. To restore what has been denied. To put forward a hopeless hope.

It is a search of a lifetime. A search to feel when to feel is unimaginable. A search to heal when to heal is to torture. A search to contentment when it doesn’t exist at all.

The blame is in absence even when life insists on casting it on one or the other. Because how can blame be placed on something that was over before it even begins?

I search for you in every soul I encounter. Those poor spirits whose intentions I ignore and whose existence I betray.

I am selfish in my motivation.

And I will do it all over again.