seeking solace.

No matter how much you love someone, or how much they love you, there is always that little window in time when you feel alone.
Like this world and the people in it are nothing more but misunderstandings, and everything you thought you knew was solid fades away with a shift in thought.
There's nights when I lie in bed and I think of nothing but you and how to make it better, but it seems, no matter what I do, it will never be enough for you.
Nothing I do is ever enough for anyone. I'm constantly surrounded by people who make me feel inadequate.
I wasn't good enough for my mother to remember to take her medicine so she wouldn't become abusive.
I wasn't good enough for my father to stay off the drugs, out of prison, and in my life.
If I could never count on my parents to love me, how could I possibly have the reassurance that anyone else will?
You will never know the ghosts that plague me, and you will never be attentive enough to see what lies behind my anger.
Or maybe I am really that good of an actress. Like mommy said, practice makes perfect. She would know, she acts like she loves me. How can I ever tell the difference? When is it real? Does true love even exist? Or is it just a figment in our imagination, encouraged by Disney.
Why can I put my fingertips down on a keyboard, or slip them around a pencil and press them to paper, then write everything I feel and desire. Why can't I function in a relationship the way my words function in a sentence?
How come you showed me how to write about love, but never taught me how to maneuver when I'm in it?
I look at you when you sleep, and lose my breath. When you open your blue eyes, my heart stops.
Your lips aren't any less lethal.
Without you my heart would stop beating.
Or does it stop beating while I'm with you?
When will my journey for solace stop.
When I hear your voice? Or will that sweet symphony be my downfall?
I'm barely hanging on, and nobody will ever notice.