Pricklier and pricklier

I do it all the time...struggle with my life.  There are moments when I hate my life.  I don't hate being alive, but sometimes I despise the way I am living.   The trouble is that if I could change it by uttering one word, I couldn't do it.  The ones who depend on me are not capable of not depending on me right now......for a year so far.  As far as they are concerned since they cannot relate to me, obviously, there is something wrong with me. Okay...maybe that is true.  It is hard to be close to a porcupine or a cactus.  I tend to be a bit prickly on occasion.  I freely admit that.  I don't know how to fix it.  God or the Fates have chosen to make my life as hard and painful as possible.  The man I love...have loved all my life....does not love me....will never love me.. Oh, he likes me well enough to call me a friend., but he says it is not in him to be in love with me.   How can I be angry at him for lacking feelings I wish he had, but doesn't?  The truth is I can't.  It isn't his fault.  We cannot choose who we love.  I feel another thorny spine growing out of my skin.  Oh, well.

Like the sirens of olde......

I sit on the rock to which I have been anchored all my life and I sing my "siren" song in hopes of luring you close enough for me to capture your  heart.  It sounds as though I am trying to lure you to a fate worse than death......or something else you could not possibly natively desire..  That isn't what I want at all.  I want your love because I think......no...I believe with all my soul..... that loving each other is a wonderful thing for both of us.  Truly, I would prefer to give up my life than make you unhappy.  It is true that I am inept at loving.  I am like a prepubescent girl, all gawky and awkward....graceless and clumsy, but if my heart could speak....oh, if my heart could speak for me........what irresistible eloquence might you hear?

?

Where is the silver-lining?
The light at the end of the tunnel?
The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?
Hell!  Where is the rainbow?
Why is virtue its own reward?
Where are the answers to the questions?
Why do I need to know the answers?
Will I be happy at last when I know them?
Will I even be alive?

Mona Lisa

As I sit here in the Starbuck's on Young Circle, I am looking at a wall full of interpretations of "The Mona Lisa" by thirty children.  The youngest ones are four.  The oldest is ten.  Most of them are six.  The Mona Lisa must be the most well known piece of artwork in history.  I look at the work of these children and find that The Mona Lisa is the iconic portrait of a woman.  It seems somehow ironic that she was created by a man who's only relationship with women was a platonic one.  Her visage seems so lovingly executed that I used to speculate that Lisa and Leonardo were lovers.  Oh, well.