The routine of bitter loneliness --IcyFire

I'm not sure what kind of story you would call this....It is a piece of writing, so I just decided to post it here. Please tell me what you think about it, honestly. Thanks :o)

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These were the days when you would stay up late at night, staring up at the black sky, wondering where your life was heading. You would wish that some one was by your side, holding you, loving you. And when no one called, you would lay in the cold grass and wish that some one would come and save you. And when no one ever thought of doing so, you would get away from the coldness of the night air, and head into the house that brought nothing but uncomfortable warmth that was never invited. Crying in the darkness of the room, you would write yourself a poem, and finalize those beautiful words with teardrops that brought emptiness to your stomach.

Waking up to a cold bed the next morning, with sheets pushed to the side that no longer brought warmth to your aching body, you would sigh as you sit up and notice that there is no one next to you. You shiver as you got out of bed, soft feet to the floor. With your hands covering your face, you realize that your dream last night was just the same. Alone, confused, and painful. Where is that friend to save you? How about a lover, perhaps? Is anybody there?

Down in the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl wasn't any more enjoyable. The empty house just brings reminders of your loneliness. There was no one there to wrap their warm arms around your waist and kiss your neck as you prepared breakfast. There was no one there to ask you how your night's sleep went. There was no one there to bring out the morning paper, as they commented on the article that was lighting up the front page. And you realize that at the current moment, you are only pouring cereal for one.

All you have is you and your music. The flowing words and guitar riffs will only keep you company for so long. Their voices scream out to you through a microphone, but aren't they always the same? Why isn't anybody saying these beautiful words to you? Sure, you are listening to the singer's voice and pain that you so experience yourself, but is he there to make you feel loved? Are you just forgotten? The music is no longer a cure for this depression. Music was all that you had. Your guitar now gathers dust in the corner, as your song book remains untouched. Does it not bring you satisfaction anymore? What will it take to satisfy your needs? Can you explain what your needs even are?

You waste away the afternoon doing pointless activities, actions without meaning. The television holds images of beautiful people, but they are not real to you. What about other beauty in this world? Are you beautiful to you? What do you see when you stare into the mirror blankly each morning? You wish for a different face, a different body. But you are already beautiful. What do you not see in yourself? Why can't you feel this? You are beautiful.

Always in silence, you sit back in bed at night, and stare at the empty room. Can you not see anything because of the darkness, or is it just that you chose not to see? Will you ever realize exactly what goes on in this dark place? As you cry, the world continues living life without you. Crying will not solve a thing. A change of routine is in need.

You say that you are ugly, and you say that you are lonely. You say. All you ever do is say. Why don't you ever act? Why can't you just try?

I sit back as I watch your life go down the drain. I wish that I could save you, but you just cannot see me standing outside of your door. You cannot hear the knocks, or the shouts. All you hear is the silence that you create. All you hear is the sobs that you live. All that you hear is the music in which you can relate. Why can you not hear me? Isn't that what you wanted? To not be alone? Why can't you open your eyes, and open your door, and see that I am standing right here? I am waiting for a useless cause. You. Come to me, that is all that I ask. Open your door and speak. I cannot go any further than the barriers that you create. It is not your fault, nor mine. These doors are always there in the beginning. It is your choice, however, whether to knock down these doors, or to keep adding more. It is your choice, however, whether or not to let me in and see you on the inside. It is your choice.

Won't you let me in? Isn't that what you wanted? To be kept good company? Quit your sobbing for just one moment, so that you can open your eyes, if just for a blink, and see what is waiting out here for you. All I am asking is that you try. And I will do the same for you.

Don't make this routine of yours any more familiar than it already is. Look around you, and you will see what has always been there. If you focus only on the darkness, that is all that you will ever see. Do you even wish to see the light in things? Make the effort, and turn on the light switch across the room. Maybe then your beautiful blue eyes will be able to see at last. And if you cannot reach that far, and if you cannot feel me standing in the darkness begging to help, why don't you feel for the small candle that is right next to you? There is a match not far from it. There doesn't always need to be light in order for you to move forward, you know. Take that small step, and light the candle and you will see my shadow flickering against the wall. And you will find me in the darkness, with a small yellow glow against my face. And then you will see.

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