The Echoes

When I was a kid it seemed the only thing that ever made me feel better was retreating from my world. This practice became a ritualized indulgence of despair in the shower. Things arent like they used to be, so why do I still feel that way?I wanted to be someone helpful. Somehow along the way that dream twisted into a nightmarish subsistence of avoidance. Now I'm a blank canvas, unlined paper. But sometimes there are reminders, a rip or a tear. I think hoping I would belong left me hopelessly deluded, because I didnt. So the little things are all I have to sort through.And some of the happiest times I have now seem like glimpses of the intensity of the feelings I used to feel. Of the happiness I used to think I could have. And almost always Im only ever reminded of my humanity when it comes to being gay. And I never turned out to be very good at that, in my course of gay exploration I was refused by everyone. People do feed on positivity, after all. There's nothing to say for being nothing.I wish I had a chance to go back and at least tell a few guys I actually did love them. The worst part is knowing that it doesnt matter now. I had so many chances but I couldnt rise above my own sinking feelings. And now I get a bit of mental clarity as my sexuality wanes from desperate inattention.Without the reverberations, the feedback I put into my own memory, I would very much think that in essence my story is already written. Ive spent a couple years "finding myself" and now I think there really isnt anything to find at all. Like in the movie Coraline where the belle daume stomps the floor and everything blows up into lines.Well, I havent been very true to myself, the boy that once was. I think humanity has a mental failsafe for times of despair, I feel myself caring not for myself more and more, like a slave to my own nature. Go to work and go to sleep and all that.I think, if only I wasnt gay! But then I dont really know what that kind of life would be like, I had always thought I built myself on my interactions with the guys Ive loved. I think the only hurtful thing is the cruelty of the situations I always ended up in, those guys couldnt ever love me. Why would I lie to myself so much? Why cant I just have lived for the self, asked myself what I wanted?I know theres no answer for me, never home again. I just wish I could tell a few guys, get them to understand how important their affection was to me. I dont even think any but one of them was actually gay (only because he told me he thought it was easier to like guys than girls in confidence on only one occasion).Was that supposed to be enough for me to live on? That same ripple in time, worn out moments? Dont let a chance to take someone's hand and make it real pass you by. It beats living a life without touch.