A Feeling Of End; Love Unbound

I suppose this is how death feels.

This, world-shattering realization,

the sheer powerlessness, of the inevitable

END, time's up-

*

How familiar the hue of potential,

kept in the back of my mind, for later,

until the hours the years flows by, as slow

as can be, yet in a flash

Until the opportunity fades, dies and vanishes

in the maelstrom of the ''what could've been''

*

Sitting here in this now empty house,

overwhelmed by a bitter and sour aftertaste

of regret and worthlessness

Any sound or sigh, echoeing on the barren

white walls, stained by fleeting days of idleness-

My thoughts spiralling away, hoping to unearth logic,

reason, meaning behind all this wasted time,

these choices I made,

how hilarious it all is..

And how silly I am indeed.

I fear I always will be this failure of a man,

this frightened, paralysed idiot

hiding away in his tiny, limited world,

keeping all that is too real at bay,

all that is uncertain, away from sight.

*

After all, I can never be rejected if I never

tell her how I truly feel.

After all, I can never be heartbroken, once we

inevitably go our separate ways.

After all, if I waste my whole life away,

surely no harm will come my way.

Except-

the melancholy of simpler times

the regrets of inaction

the sorrows of not only never reaching my full potential,

but also of never trying!

*

At times, I wonder, why don't I leap in the troubled waters of life,

like everyone else? Eyes closed, smiles abound?

Why don't I simply eat the apple, despite its rotten core?

Why can't I make a fool of myself,

why can't I accept that yes life is about love,

life is about connection, life happiness meaning

lays in the bonds between people, the distant looks

we give each others some times, the awkward silences

and the shared laughters as well.

*

Yet I can't bring myself to embrace it all-

Perhaps I am convinced that I don't deserve any of it.

Or that I am above such petty, sentimental weaknesses.

Yes, weaknesses! To love is to be at the mercy of the other,

to be oh so vulnerable, to be true, real, raw,

to need each others, and all that

*

Perhaps the end justify the means.

Perhaps I'll never be able to love truly, since I seem convinced

I am unworthy of love.

What sort of life is that, then?

Seemingly unending days and years of simple pleasures, of idleness,

of daydreaming, in place of truly living...

All I can do is hope that one day, I'll change for the better,

that one day, I'll be able to embrace her,

love unbound.