Wasteland

I hate Facebook.  That is to say, I hate looking at the (girl) friends in my life who have either blossomed into beauty, or have increased in beauty.  And I hate looking at people's statuses about how in love they are, or how happy they are with their someone.  I hate it all.  They are all a bitter reminder that, when I go home at night, I am alone... and there is no one there to tell me they're in love with me, or that I'm beautiful.

My beauty is for nothing.  That is to say, what beauty I have.  Some days I am astonished at how much more beautiful I am now, than I was in my younger days.  And other days, all I can do is stare in the mirror and wonder how other women managed to get God's blessing... and I just missed it.

If a tree falls in the woods, and no one hears or sees it, did it still fall?  And if I am beautiful, but no one sees it, am I still beautiful?

I am a warrior.  I am ready to do battle, with my sword and shield, against evil men, demons - hell, even the devil himself!  I am ready to fight for what I believe in.  Cursing out demons in my head just... doesn't cut it.  There's more to me than the image you see when you look at me.

I dream of two things: being in love, and being a warrior.

In real life, I am neither.  Ask me again (I dare you), how I'm feeling today.  How am I feeling any day of the week?  Without purpose.  Aimless.  Tired.  Sad.  Lonely.  Angry.  Frustrated.  Worn out.

God is not obligated to lead me to 'true love' - if 1) such a silly thing actually existed (and not just for other people, but for me); and 2) I believed I were actually able to fall in love again (which, thanks to my asshole ex-boyfriend, is less and less likely by the day...).  I thought, at one point in my life, that He was obligated to do so; but He's not.  I may be single, lonely, and virginal my entire life.

I am beautiful.

But I remain invisible.

When you are young, you believe you can have it all.  But you can't.  I never had the chance to get married, but still I have regrets.  I am twenty-five years old, with one degree, still in school, still single.  I have absolutely nothing to show for all my work.  Nothing but - at the end of this year - two damn pieces of paper... and an empty heart.