Growing Pains

Here I lay, tucked away in secret, silent solitude, distracting myself through the longing I feel for connection with faces that I haven’t met before, fighting the disconnect I feel through radio silence, despite knowing that the silence is the result of joy on the other side.

I remain an anonymous figure; a future face to meet.

Christmas Day has never felt so empty.

But I understand. For now, anonymity seems to be the pragmatic choice.

The juxtaposition of my sorrow pressed against the elation of knowing that the man I love is content seems like a selfless, yet repeated theme in my life.

It’s a lonely path to always put others first.

Don’t get me wrong, this is not a case of “woe is me”. Simply, an expression of the nature of being a giving person.

On one hand, all I want is to sink into my pain and let it fester, like a plague.

On the other hand, all I want is to lift those that I love up without allowing the pain to show through the cracks.

Can you desire two things equally, all at once? How can you tell what is truth, and what is just a mechanism to fight the pain?

Like a beast, lashing out against those trying entrap it, entomb it. A beast, screaming in a language that nobody can understand. A beast who wants love and security; like any other being. Am I the beast?