The love within.

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I've been quite skeptical lately about whether I actually love or not. Actually, it's been a really long time since I purely loved and showed it. I've grown afraid to hug people, even my sister, whom I cuddle without passion, without that burning warming fire erupting within my heart. It's like there is this barrier between the fantastical world of compassion inside my head and reality. Am I afraid to love? Or let me say; am I afraid to show it? More accurately, I think I never learned to show it.

I love everyone around me. I have some real gallant dear friends, a supporting, responsible father, my distant, kind mother and lastly, my own joyful, beautiful sister. What happens is, I spent the whole day wishing I could just hug them tightly and show how much I appreciate them being in my life, but I'm just unable to do it. The love I behold remains within me, locked in cubicles of daydreams and thoughts. Is it because I never saw everlasting love in front of my own eyes? Is it because the ones I truly love are so far away? So intangible? Is it because I've countlessly seen love burn and turn into hate? I'm lost, and currently shedding burning tears of pain. I think I long for love.

It's disparate when it comes to the many inanimate things around me, I can fearlessly love the trees, the flowers of spring, the melodies of a guitar, and the ending of a book. I could kiss a petal so passionately until I leave it glowing. I love God, but even He is a chimerical presence within my soul, that works hard everyday to translate this love into action, freeing the reigns of hate that could ever get hold of me.

I'm aware that I could never ever hate. It actually hurts me to think of hating anything lest anyone. But I think I might have hated myself. Sometimes I think I still do.
To this day, I still neglect my body's needs, I'm afraid to show it comfort and pleasure. Sometimes I stop indulging in a task I kind of find alluring just because I don't want to feel pleased by it. How long have I been resisting myself? I see myself running away from my being, but I don't know the end of the road, and whom I shall find instead. In nightmares, I see myself surrounded by pleasurable ecstatic things like food, warm baths, a group of friends, and I sit there shuddering. Afraid. Terrified. Shaking from the friction that stops me from reaching out for comfort, a pathway to love the only thing I truly own; myself. Because even I don't own my soul, it belongs to the ethereal world, but here, my conscious can control only what's finite and earthly, and I've neglected it, and ruthlessly hated it. But what if the first step to loving myself is admiring that I hate it?

I long for the day to be free. I long for the day I become only my soul
                                                                                                              and nothing more.

Soraya.

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