It is late in this region. The world moved on with itself, as it always does. My internal stories have played out, the shine of light in the sky has been subdued, and all that is left is the roar of a nearby train. Okay, perhaps an occasional airplane breaks the silence, too. Luckily, it's too cold for the majority of restless people around here to venture out into the night and disturb the peace.

I have a tree up for Yule. The strands of lights are starting to sputter and die, though. Only about a third of it is lit, and seems more eerie than cozy. I guess that slight dread suits me, tonight. Anything is better than feeling nothing, at this point.

I have a lot of wishes burning inside me. Knowing I am a mere ghost passing through life has sprouted all these fantasies that I write. I flit in and out of view, barely leaving a trace as I disappear. My existence is no more than a feather in a hurricane. Soon enough, no one will even know I was here.

As the last drop of hope evaporates, let it be known that all there was inside this shrine was a nasty case of compassion and love. These are all that I had to infect this world with. And it wasn't ever enough, but I didn't care about that part. I only cared that others might eventually overcome their reign of apathy and disgust for other humans. I only hoped I could spread all this feeling of love to others, lighten my own burden of concerns, and share some measure of civility with the world. There's nothing here, though. Just the same exasperating cycle of needless pain.

The mocking of my dreams where I have more than duties and requirements - where I share love and time with someone who loves and shares it with me - makes it harder to bear this weight of nothingness.

Perhaps the morning will bring a new optimism. As of this moment, though, all that exists is a lifeless emptiness.

Yet I go on hoping those I love will be well and feel contentment that I cannot feel.

-Home