I struggle greatly with the idea that I am inconsequential.
Unnecessary.
Irrelevant.
That I am but a flash in the lives of those whom I cherish.

It takes not but a moment for me to be convinced that my time in their hearts has expired.
Yet several lifetimes could pass, and I would still fear the day my nightmarish internal prophecy would be realized.

The warmth of someone’s love confuses me.
I cannot grasp the reasoning behind their motives.
Time has taught me that I don’t get what I am too scared to even hope for.

The chill of their rejection is almost comforting in its inevitability.
A constant in my life that I can depend on.
All things come to an end.

I wonder if it is a mercy or a true torture that I never know how long I will have before I lose someone I grow to love.

Maybe I was too happy.
I am not destined to be that fortunate.
Searching for a sense of family.
Always being left behind.

I grow tired again with the chase of a reality I am not meant to have.
Home is where the heart is, and I find myself destitute.