Misery

Every day I promise myself that I will not cry when I come back home. And every day I break that promise. Nearly almost every day I end up crying, or at the very least being miserable. Loneliness? No, Love. A bit of loneliness, too; but that is a minuscule fraction.

 In spirits, I have never been this low for this long in three decades. All my self-confidence shattered, I wonder every day how to go on. Every day I have to try to let the time pass. Never ever in my life have I known it to be so difficult.

 I do not doubt me as a person. No, about that I am confident enough --- I am a good person at heart. I also happen to have been bitten by the love bug; so much so, that, even after about four months, at times I find it hard to control my feelings. And I cannot even go and express how much I love to my lover. While this person knows about the existence of my feeling, this person is probably not aware of the full extent of it.  And this person I love doesn't respond; we never had a chance together, and I do not know why I was refused. In spite of my tries I cannot, simply cannot get rid of this feeling in my heart. It makes me so miserable. And I cry. It's been almost four months now, and yet no respite. And I cry again. Should I be ashamed? No, I haven't done anything wrong. I shouldn't. My life story is turning out to be as tragic as that of this person whose letter I discovered.

I don't really have an enemy, but even upon an enemy I cannot wish such misery. That love could eat you up so much, I hadn't the least idea.