Tonight I am blind-sided by sadness. It snuck up on me with a covert agenda. Like a blow to the back of my head, a wave of disarray now lies beneath my thoughts. Those feelings of lonliness and isolation remain unhealed. Can there really be a match for me out there in existance? A soul as fucked up as my own? Or does the possibility dance in front of me, taunting and teasing with such great cruelty? If we are truly unique among ourselves, then there is no absolute equal for anyone. If everyone is different, there can be no such thing as a soulmate. With that point of view, what is the point of anything? Maybe love is an abstract idea created to give ourselves meaning to our insignificant little lives. Maybe it was made up. Maybe love is only a word that is raped and abused all too often. And maybe it has been so violated, it's been drained of its meaning. Maybe, just maybe, we are wrong.
Yet still, I love the idea of love.