Have You Ever Seen the Sun Rise at Midnight?

Romance. A possibly poetic piece

    (Used I instead of you for this one, idk, wanted to try something different again for these short story things like I do when I use he/she pov for some of these short stories. I don't know if this counts as a story or poem, but oh well, this book is just for random stuff I decide to try for my writing anyway.

     Uh. For the record the author is fine. I feel like I should add that.  Don't know if it's just me, but when writing emotions that are like really depressing or something like that I tend to feel like maybe I should clarify; not me, all the character; I'm fine.

-T.A.L.A.)

Sometimes I just want to be held tight, squished and warm  on all sides instead of surrounded by vast empty space.  Told that everything is going to be alright, that I am precious, that I am loved, that I am fascinating as I am.

       Sometimes I just want someone to take the time to dig down and try to wrestle through the tangled ribbons of random thoughts and ideas, half-actions and buried emotions that is me and my mind to try and know the whole and complete me; not caring what they found, yet still searching... maybe, just maybe, because they wanted to know everything and anything there was to know about me.

       Sometimes I think that's why I took to life simulators and dating games as quickly as I did. Originally I started playing one accidentally, I was there for the horror side of the story and was blind sided by the percentage of time taken up by what I had anticipated to only be a side story. Sure I knew how it was going to end, I could predict every step, twist, and turn long before it occurred, I'm pretty sure everyone else could too. But it didn't matter. I pretended I liked it for the horror and searched for similar ones, but it wasn't long before I gave up the pretense entirely.

        Sometimes I wonder if I should even continue to indulged myself with these perfect, twisted worlds that mock the cold emptiness of modern reality. As if it is all some trick I play on me; deluding myself into believing that that is how things could be if only I tried. I wondered why I played them at all if they only ever seemed to feed that gaping loneliness that once contented itself with haunting the corners of my dark room at night when I was left in silence except for the sounds of laughter and music of my neighbors through our thin walls, but now the longing has swelled to follow my every thought and movement. At times I wondered, since I didn't think those games were any good, as a productive pastime or for me, why I even played them at all.

        It might have been because the characters felt everything so vividly. I don't know if it's even possible to feel something so deeply that you're willing to throw away everything you've ever known to follow that emotion and never regret it once even if it ends in failure and everything was just a mirage.  Or rather, even if it is possible for others, if it is for me.

          It was these thoughts that led to me reaching out of my comfort zone a little more. Encouraging me to take a chance. Not with anything major, just little decisions. What do I want to eat? Let's pick a random place, have a small adventure. Which route should I take, which classes, which house, which job, I could have researched it more, but instead I let chance take the wheel and spin. I didn't regret it.  But I still can't understand.

        It just escapes me, how people manage to conjure up such meaning and purpose. To cast aside the confines of doubt. To strive towards that getting a step closer or not at all being at the same time meaningless and everything so long as they can keep trying. A part of me wants to understand and feel that way, but the feeling of chasing a person, a goal with that boundless excitement always eludes me.

        Hurts and heartaches are an inevitable part of life, but for the most part, the older I get, the more success seems dull and meaningless and the more failure seems less daunting and more... tempting. The older I get, the less things hurt as I build up these walls around my mind and self, but the less I feel, the wall built around where my heart once beat freely in my chest, now surrounds a crumbling and empty chasm.

      Hurts become distant, guarded against before they ever even come, joys and pain painting in the same monotone ink on canvas that slowly, day by day, becomes just a blank sheet, a shade blanker than it was the day before that... and the day before that... and the day before that... until I begin to wonder if maybe I want someone to hurt me. To toy with my emotions until I was twined around their thumb and lost within their eyes, only to be cast aside without another thought, cruelly relegate to a mere afterthought, ripping my newly beating heart out and once more leave a gaping hole, except now with rivulets of blood seeping from its walls rather than the crumbling, calcified wasteland that exists now. Maybe then I'd feel.

        Inside the confines of society though, we are always taught to be alone, to guard our innermost thoughts and feelings so they cannot be used to our detriment, to guard ourselves against actions that could be poorly perceived, to guard ourselves against any seeking to know us while still smiling and telling the world how close and loved we are by each other.  The words we don't say meaning so much more than the empty ones in which we do.

        .