Less Than Substantial

Sweet, summer air…if only you yielded some form of clarity. Pinpoints of light gaze down at me while I pillow my head in the grass. Contemplation. Mediocrity. A sense of indecision, futility. Will I regain what little security I had? I almost have the mind to let the dew blanket me and caress my tear-streaked face. Tears? Not weakness, but futility. O, the utter futility of my feelings and woes. Rich tree bark, intricate under my exploring fingertips. Wingless, I am caged. Flightless, I soar nowhere. Truthful yet holding back, omitting what truly lies beneath the lightness in my eyes. Lightness overshadowing the dull misery behind expressive irises. I gaze at you, and no clear reading is found, only my futility and the rage at fate is mirrored. Why? I see my own eyes reflected in yours; yours, which drop no hints and leave no tracks behind. Sleepless, hunger dissipating, and questions overflowing. Inquiries which I have all of the answers to, even as I pray for those answers to morph into something I desire. Fate has never quite seen eye-to-eye with me, and the outcome is enraging. You are enraging. You are flawless, faultless, never easily read or open. I crave your openness but I know only side-steps. My grip on you is slipping, and I know no way to regain balance. I openly express my melancholy thoughts, for it seems to be the only known way to reach you. Reaching you is my biggest dream, but one that was crushed underfoot into the dust before it was even concieved. Witless fool. I search in vain for something that makes sense as you do. My ill-filtered words give me away, though it means nothing. I am nothing. I will never be anything substantial.

All my love,
Amanda