Purist.

I don’t even know, or remember what real love is like. I forget the feeling of being important to someone.

It’s like I search for it and wait for it, and eventually come to terms with the fact that maybe my standard of love is too high.

I don’t think it is neediness.

I really suppose, my definition of love is incomprehensible to many.

My love, and respect is too strong, too unconditional.

My idea of love is too pure, too correct.

But where, how, did love become so hard?

It’s like swinging at the air.

“Don’t. You. Know. That. You. Are. Fighting. A. Long. Battle?”

“A battle that you will not win”, an antagonistic voice springs up’

A battle that, brings me to my knees and knocks me cold.

Fighting, and looking for love.

Fighting, and believing in real love.

I close my eyes, perhaps love will make its way when I am not looking…

I stand still, maybe it will come to me…

I try everything!

My last resort, I jump off of a bridge.

Maybe the love I have been looking for is in heaven, in Jesus’s arms.

That sounds too fanatic.

But that illustrates where I am at.

My despairing, agonizing search – for the moment of clarity and feelings that are blissful and powerful.

They say that love is in the air, so I breathe hysterically, as if I want to consume the atmosphere, and stratosphere.

But then I feel like a madman, and see that nothing is truly working.

So then I hold my breath, ceaselessly, and carefully.

Pinching and squinting my eyes, my lungs are asking me what the hell am I doing.

Are you in some kind of fantasy?

I shut my concentration off.

I am being creative in my pursuit of love.

Of perhaps, making sense of a broken child, who only wanted a kiss from his mother, but never gotten that.

Never once did I receive any kind of love.

“A roof over your head, food, and sent to school.

No love for you.”

But, mother, what about the most important thing of things there is,

Love!

I only needed love, more than the necessities of life, because love is the most, essential thing of life.

But, you see, here I am, as a broken rose, never truly sprouting.

Because I was never loved!

And here I am, damaged, as a 21 year old. Left with the task of self loving, and waiting, until someone sees the beauty in my damaged soul of darkness.

I will keep swinging at the air.

I feel like I might win this fight.

My broken logic, my broken mind, with a broken spirit…