I am an Outsider

It is quite a charming weather when I wake up. I examine the blue sky in a chilly morning of dull May with moderate expectation of a bright wonderful day. It is such a perfect moment to start another twenty-four hour journey on earth. Without unnecessary noise, and also at the absence of any disagreeable festivity, I feel indescribably full and complete. Although there is actually nothing particular which I would love to do to enjoy this lovely state of nature, I cannot help permitting this sudden feeling of joy and eagerness to flush through my whole body. Perhaps, it is the serenity and the tranquility that charms me the most. Indeed, in such circumstance that I find the sanctity of life itself.  Or, is it my soul that long has been waiting for peacefulness?

 I am completely aware that I have treated my soul like a spoilt girl, feed it with a sweet delusion of love and a fake happiness as it shall never be shared but repressed. Very still, I cannot stop trying to get comfort from those wonderful imaginations. I keep listening to that whisper of splendid future. The pleasure I get from that delusion is like heroin. Even after I get myself disengage, the comfort remains. It is nothing close to sober, only a desire to taste more and lore. 

Oh how I should find such a cure for my ill soul! I have witnessed how unsteady and uncertain my own heart for so long. For your sacred soul’s sake, indeed call me a melancholy, but I should never translate mine that. I am passionate, earnest and sincere. If my existence is to embrace both the delight and severity of loving, I would possess them with full consciousness. My spirit, though, does degenerate for the limit of my comprehension of my own faith.

An ill soul I admit! And it is that very existence which has been the origin of all the disease- uncertainty. What a wicked creature it is! It consumes your security, harms the ease, tarnishes the hope, and yet even with your full acknowledgement of what is happening, you just cannot help wandering around. It is a battle within you which you can barely conquer. 

I am uncertain, beautiful young man. Loving you is either a delusion or madness, either a hope or an obsession. It exhausts me to an extent in which I see no more recovery. And I fancy you to share the sufferings for which I demand your whole capacity to accept me. Yes, I may require too much, but should not love be reciprocal? Should not it be the one that has an inescapable power over two different souls and unite them with affections for each other? Your intelligence, ingenuity, and sensibility should be enough to help you notice. Yet, you are to remain indifferent.

I have long demanded you as you are. My soul is delighted at merely the thought of you. Very often, my darling, I think it is deceitful. As all the efforts I have put into still get me nowhere. Now my sanity is severely attacked, my confinement and solitude are cracked, that I cannot possibly store any charm of being exist outside your world any longer. I require your attachment and protection. But I am to you remain an outsider. And the idea breaks my heart into pieces.