Inner Music

Any romantic would know what I mean.. the musical flow to the feelings in our souls varies in mood and tempo, almost constantly. A concerto has never been so colorful as to express the depth and range that i have felt. I have known the pure blind raging hatred that could lay waste to civilizations but I don't allow myself to fall into that pit, that swirling vortex of destruction anymore.
I have known many versions of fantastic beauty, but some of it was an illusion created to manipulate me. An idealized image of a perfect soulmate. Seemingly kindred spirits, now estranged for no reason except that perhaps we were never kindred at all.
Once again I ponder the question; whether it is really better to know the joy (or the hope thereof) only to suffer the loss, or if it may be better to simply go without.. with no illusions of what might have been. The question vexes me, but the answer is truly simple. It is my joy and my pain which inspires me, that punctuate the perpetual night, and the inspiration spawns the written words that may some day be my legacy. They may be the one mark i leave on this world.
As contradictory as it may sound, i miss the punctuation.
The vibrant color and full spectrum of sound.
I am almost dead without it.