Nocturne on a Toy Piano

I did something tonight I knew I would regret. I knew that somehow this act would only bring me pain; inexplicable pain. And regret, regret almost instantly. There are things in this life that trouble me, keep me awake at night, things that really shouldn't but do. A recurring theme in my writing is insomnia. I have a mind that refuses to lay lax when I rest my head on the pillow. Thoughts and memories, and inexorably regrets, grind away like gears in a tightly wound clock. My actions tonight did not serve to dull the processes of my brain either. I knew the minute I had submitted the application that the situation was bound to stir ill sentiment.

The feeling was compressive and lonesome. Almost like walking into a room of people and knowing from the scornful looks on their faces that you do not belong, unwanted. The most melancholy notes drummed out on a toy piano, discordant in their resonance. Once, a long time ago I read the letter of a dear friend to someone else. Halfway through I came across my own name, written in disdain and harshness. The unfriendly words were a shock and hurt my heart and I remember them to this day. But I knew what I risked when I read words that were not penned with my eyes in mind. This fact did not affect the sting in my heart and the injury of their disapproval.

That is what surfaced when I acted this evening, a nocturnal whim. Something so innocent and, ironically, friendly, tainted my mood and sleep. Once again I will lie in bed nursing only tears and sighs for company and let my mind churn away restlessly.

I cannot begin to describe the loneliness of being alone, prostrate in longing. Set apart in mind, always the outsider looking in. Somehow unable to cope with just being me an not a part of them, unwanted and unused; an empty vessel, a broken instrument.