Searching

Floating, hovering like a dragonfly in search of a safe landing place. Roaming, travelling, never settling, in constant fear of desolation. No beginning, and no end in sight - - suspended animation - certain of my creation, but hanging like a mist or balanced like a spider on its gossamer web. Unconditional love did not exist for me: there was always a condition. Insecure security - no blood ties you see. No sense of belonging, so belonging nowhere. The illusion was there and I believed it for a while. My childhood innocence allowed me that, but now, in callous adulthood, I am spared no pain. In harsh reality, cold light of day, the truth is stark: I was abandoned, given birth to and relinquished for no reasons known to me. No explanation given. No excuses. An inebriated memory, or a raped repugnance. Yes, an unhappy, irritating accident probably. Born and gone - out of sight and out of mind. The effects of that inauguration are hardly ever seen - they're privately wept for; written about; drunkenly discussed at dinner, or in times of despondency, dwelt unhealthily upon, when their deep-seatedness shallows into consciousness and lurches from my dreams into reality - forcing face-to-face acknowledgement that I was not meant to be: that my existence was a nuisance, a niggling inconvenience to be discarded heartlessly.