Love, And Only Love

Jaded. The world has left me a jaded, rotting corpse in the valley of dreams. Wafting through the air, the foul stench of my decay mixes with the breeze that carries the fallen pseudo-maple leaves around Jameson Plaza. I have lost everything. Who was I to begin with? Who was I to attend this university? Why did they even accept me to start with? I have lost the battle, why did I even choose to step onto the field in the first place? My position in grade meant nothing in high school : why do they even give out such titles? They say, ‘as He gives, so shall He take,’ but if he wishes to take such elements from my life, why not take me, too? Or am I just that inferior that even God wants naught of me? No matter, I still worship, still pray, for it is not the Heaven’s fault but mine own. The bitterness drowns me, oh if only I had more realised potential than the ability to deceive the world that I had untapped reservoirs of such. Glistening away with false words of self-belief and promise, the foundation has invested so much of time and money into me for naught. I am a waste. My place should have been given to someone with 12 As in matric who could have easily sailed through university with a smile and satisfactorily met the demands of the foundation simultaneously. Only love keeps the eyes of the corpse shining, only love fails to turn the pupils a deathly shade of pale blue, and glisten the ball over with emptiness. It is love that is never in vain, love that is never lost, and love that is forever unconditional: the single promise from my father that I mean more to him than anything else, the silent devotion of my mother and her temperance keep the eyes shining, but can’t bring the chest to rise and fall. My life is a sham. One big façade in the wake of death, where the pipedreams of authoress lie scattered in the torn sheets of my 96% final mark for English in matric. Too many writers, too few readers, not enough talent in my bones, not enough passion in my words. Talentless and empty, I once again leave society for a few days, fragmented and alone until I leave this empty, desolate land for the love of my parents. I take with me the behemoth reservoir of pseudo-potential that has always been empty, but I guess nobody’s ever taken a genuine look into the mouth of it to realise so. I am a lie. Always have been, always will be. My very essence was built around the false words of society, “You’ll do well! You’re really studious!” “You’re ready for this, I know it.” “You can do it, I believe in you.” They all lied to me, made me into something that I’m not and that I never will be. I’m sick of the mediocre person and life that I’m living. It is insufferable – these feelings and haunting thoughts, but I can’t end them, I can’t – how would my parents feel if I did? How would my parents react if I did take the final leap? I can’t hurt them, for it is love that binds us. Love, only love, the highest of all forces, more profound than the shallow touch of intimacy between male and female. Love, and only love. I've learnt that, now. And I want you to know it, too.