august-is-over:

Sometimes I sit under the moon and the few stars that are not suffocated by the bright lights of this city that I have come to call home. I sit and I wonder how many others there are out there like me. Am I just alone in the thoughts that I have and in all that I seek?

How many people are there who walk a path like mine, paved with the loss of many they loved, hoping helplessly to glance upon the faces of those now lost. How many are there that seek to verify their existence just as I do, to know that they are living and breathing, to know that they are indeed alive only by dancing with death. How many seek a purpose in their life, something to make their worthless life worth something, to find something, anything at all to make their life worth living, to make every breath worthwhile. How many are there just like me, or am I alone in this pitiful existence.

I can’t help but wonder, if I am alone why do I walk such a different path to all those around? Why am I unlike anyone I know? Why is it that I cannot merely exist blissfully unaware of this hurt that stalks my every step? Like a beast waiting in the shadows to pounce on an otherwise vulnerable soul. But if there are others like me, who share in my woes, could they help me? Or are they just as pitiful as I?