Drifting is something I do. I'm pretty good at it. Everything that's worth anything to me is always at risk of just... evaporating. People, goals, ideas, beliefs, the list goes on. I've done a fair job of losing touch with the occasional friend, of letting motivation slip right through my fingers, of forgetting who I am and what I (should) stand for. I've never really felt grief at the loss of a loved one. The kind of grief that brings you to tears or twists up your insides in knots. I've always been okay with the bare minimum. Is there some kind of earth-shattering need that I'm missing? Some gut-wrenching, soul-crushing desire that I lack? Nothing holds me. Nothing moves me. Is there something wrong with me? I've read books and heard people's stories about something so powerful that not even the jaws of hell could prevail against its strength, its beauty. But are we all just romanticizing the truth? Do all of these people just convince themselves that they have some sort of fixed orbit around the things they care about most, comparable to gravity itself? And love, don't even get me started on love. Am I, in fact, just more realistic that the rest of the world intended me to be? There are things I need. I need air. Sustenance. Shelter. Sleep. These are constants. I'm positive that everyone forgets that. Or chooses to ignore it. Everyone is just too frightened by the idea that in this world, it is you, and the earth, and God. We are all alone in our minds, excepting that Supreme Being who created us. We are separate entities--unattached, unbound--all weaving through the Master's orchestrated parade.
I get scared, too. No matter how cynical, aloof, or bitter I may seem, I do fear. I fear that I may be the anomaly. That it is the rest of the love-drunk, dramatic, romantic world with its "happily ever after"s and soul-mates that falls under normalcy. That no one will ever be anchored by someone who has never been in harbor, except through the Almighty, Himself.
