As a photographer I am alone. I have a moment of interaction and connection which I capture forever but then I am alone once more.
As a writer, I am alone. Fleeting thoughts, which otherwise would be long forgotten, committed to paper and either lauded or ignored.
As a person I am alone. My thoughts are my dearest friends and direst enemies, my persecutor, my judge and my jury.
Today I was with people who are now an important and treasured part of my life. Tonight, alone again, I feel I have to pay the price for being happy and imprison myself with grief, fear and doubt. Tomorrow, I shall become the photographer once more, the clown, the joker, the entertainer.
I am reminded of this which I wrote a couple of years ago:
Acting a part, standing
apart
Whilst wearing a smile of delusion
Fooling the crowd, laughing out loud
Yet within, broken dreams and confusion.
Hoping to want, wanting to hope -
The needs of a child never changed
Put on the act, big smile intact
it's merely a frown rearranged.
All things to all men, just be what you need
Please others, don't take, just keep giving
The coward's way out, don't scream or shout
Just leave Life to those who are living.
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1 comment:
Orphan
Sometimes I feel there is a little girl inside of me, crying; crying with all the loneliness and helplessness of a child. That little girl is crying for someone big and strong to come and make everything all right. On the outside, I go on doing whatever I am supposed to do; my chores, my daily routine, my obligations. But I can hear her, deep inside crying for comfort. Everything is mixed up into that little girl. She holds all my grief, and insecurity, and weakness. She is the orphan inside of myself. She cries my tears of hopelessness, of feeling alone, of frustration.
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