What is it that I am always leaving behind? And what is it that I seek? There is so much leaving to be finished; I feel like I'm collecting my belongings and packing for another set off all the time. All the time, as I see it. Even before I'm sure of my arrival, I'm certain of going away again. Why wouldn't I rest? What do I seek and why should I? The semblances I live and live to the best I can, believe me. But it comes down to nothing, nothing! Zilch! Pray, I do not complain, I am just weary at times like these.
"My heart is mute - My heart is mute" - Jane Eyre
You saw the madness in me - the madness that found no shore as I beseeched the universe reveal to me where to take it. It hasn't found an answer, only an echo in return - cursed like Echo were. And cursed not once but twice! In never to have the first word and that her only love qualified unrequited. I find myself in one of those echoes that find their identity only in melancholy. But I am not pained as much. Not yet. :)
Must I mention, the two pieces have as little to do with one another as two foreign lands could ever have. Except an occasional hitchhiker perhaps. :)