Broken, I Am

I lie here, waiting
Each morning, every evening.
Waiting for a word, a message,
Even a mere warning.

I lie here, waiting
Forlorn, and weakening,
The deafening silence
All consuming.

My subterfuge
Of being whole
Is but a mere attempt
To hide the fresh wounds.

Wounds scathing not the flesh,
But the heart and the soul;
A death that seeks those who are
Enfeebled by false hopes.

I watch as this sordid world
Continues to turn, mocking
My measly existence,
My negligible presence.

I watch helplessly,
As there naught anything else
That my solace can afford me
But a window to watch the world.

I walk this ragged trail each day
To join others and their masks
Worn to conceal tears shed
For those, like me, who have come undone.

Undone by the chaos of this world,
They are.
Undone by the despair that has consumed all hope,
I am.

Some Old Journal Entries (from those lost)

"Love is, by no means, quantifiable. Neither is passion. This makes the whole concept of 'loving a person more' a contradiction. One cannot measure how much s/he loves a person for love is beyond all principles of reason, all principles of physics or accounting. One can never say that s/he loves another as much as that person loves him/her. There is no way to compare what cannot be quantified and measured."
- journal entry, December 4, 2006
(Jessica Zafra's version sounds better, and wittier... she probably wrote it before I did, too)

"Love is irrational... so is passion. The moment you try to rationalize these, you set yourself up for disaster. No long discussions or debates can ever result to an agreeable reason why or how people fall in love, or give in to their passions."
- journal entry, January 16, 2002

"What pleasure might one soul find in spending even a fleeting moment in the arms of eternal love? ... One that is not merely as fleeting as that moment's embrace, but as eternal as the love shared with a beloved."
- Abbe May, December 4, 1995