and perhaps it's normal.
feeling lonely.
it is, i guess. no?
but yet, why do I revel in this - this world where nothing can reach you? this place, feared but fascinating, where the rest of the world means nothing, where it's just you, the air and the trees and no one else.
songs, ballads. all were made about this faraway place, belting of the emptiness, the heartbreak and the blackness.
it is in this world where i sleep in.
in this world where i lie, face streaked with tears of a thousand long forgotten sorrows, wishing, praying (maybe) for the light to break upon the water.
but it never does.
and i sigh with relief, sinking back into the comfort of this darkness.
it's this - this weird syndrome that i suffer from. the happy-but-sad oxymoronic sydrome, where I cry with joy to embrace this world called loneliness. in this world where i'm glad that i'm alone, with no warmth of a human's touch and no sound of joyous laughter, just cut off from everything else. this place where no one can reach me, where i'm vulnerable, weak and cold - but alone.
honestly. who has heard of such a thing - a person feeling happy that she's lonely?
i try to suppress this quiet joy within my empty shell, fearing that a few screws have come off loose. but yet, i cannot deny the limitless joy and hope i feel when i'm in New Zealand - out in the boondocks, cut off from the rest of the world, where it's just me, the mountains and the grass beneath my feet.
this, is what loneliness offers me, with a sly smile caught behind her raven veil of hair.
liberation.
in the weirdest sense.