Shadows of Exile
In the quiet corridors of my existence, a cloak of unlovability clings to me in the way shadows cling to the light. I alone burden this weight in the desolate landscape of my soul. This cloak is woven of threads of self doubt and insecurities, perhaps even guilt. It wraps me in a cocoon of isolation, a self-imposed exile of the warmth of human connection. The more I yearn for this affection, the tighter it constricts, a constant reminder that my existence is poison. I navigate the world with this cloak. Its presence colors every connection with somber hues ruining potential connections. It rejects the affection I so yearn, leaving me drowning in the depths of loneliness. The loneliness grasps me, holding me tighter than anyone once did. Yet, amidst all the pains, this cloak brings a sense of comfort. It shields you from rejection, a shield that I’ve used to ward off the sting of abandonment. It is a twisted ally, whispering the tales of unlovability, a constant reminder that all I bring is pain to even those of whom I love, this cloak reminds me that its sanctuary is the only thing I truly deserve. In the books I read, I find a reflection of my internal struggles. The gnawing sense of unworthiness, relentless questioning of my existence in this world. These themes resonate with the dissonant melody of my life. In the warmth grasp of loneliness, I find myself wondering, why am I like this? Why did I have to be cursed as an unlovable child? These are the questions in which I still haven’t answered. Shielding others from the perplexities that adhere to my touch became my chosen path. A conscious act. The cloak is triumphant, it has consigned me to the profound solitude in the desolate abyss, where its suffocating embrace assures me that it is all I have rightfully earned. I concede to the anguish entwined with unlovability, I now acknowledge that it is the only thing that is well earned. The constant yearning for affection, once fervent, now lays dormant inside of me.
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