Gone but never forgotten

The world has not brought me to my knees. I have placed myself there to give the illusion that I have always been weak.

A fox is a fox because it understands the nature of its surroundings, a lion is a lion because it knows to expend only enough energy to feed itself or defend its home, and a mouse is a mouse because fear is its greatest asset. The question I pose to anyone is this, do you believe it is in your nature to be the fox, the lion or the mouse?

What I have learned in my enduring struggle for purpose in this world is that it is best to just be yourself. For me my true self inhabits the strongest character traits of all these wild creatures. However, my greatest blunder has been the inability to recognize and conversely disregard them when love asks you to be human. Whether man has sought to be instinctive or our flesh has chosen us to be forever prehistoric is not the question we should be asking ourselves. What really perplexes me is whether or not there will ever come a time when we will no longer need to use them to survive on a planet infested with mirrors.

Nothing will ever give me back that which I have chosen to push away from me. She is gone now, and I have reached a level of paranoia that consumes me into questioning if this absence from the world is literal or metaphorical. I’m inclined to believe that maybe it is a bit of both when I consider that experience has a way of mutating everyone into something we no longer recognize as the clock ticks endlessly.

I wonder if I can love her now. I wonder if she can love me. Have images that speak a thousand words or with self-inflicted daily ignorance spoken none given me enough to carry forward into piecing together a new destiny? I had never offered myself the chance at anything less than a tragedy and facing the weight of life’s choices has given me good reason to.

To define the sun as stubborn for rising and setting upon my skin since the day of my birth would be doing a disservice to the definition when I consider her unwillingness to concede to my will even in the potentially darkest setting for my future.

I have given all that I could in turning the tables against her hoping that she would accept the fox, or the lion, or the mouse, and be content with whichever I had chosen to be led by for the rest of my time here, but after seventy three hundred sunsets I still have not felt the light of her touch shining on my skin.

What mental deficiency has plagued me to believe a constant shifting of egos would somehow capture her embrace. There is no fool like the man who changes everything so often that he has come back to the place that got him in this mess in the first place, doubt. Why would a woman this beautiful ever love a man like me?