The butcher king and his fiend-like wife

I find great pleasure in looking out of my window. In my home, though it may not be a high class home, and some may call it a Tim Burton house, I am shielded from the exterior elements. Cozy has been known to lurk in windows, looking out. I wonder if I am so conspicuous when I do it. People walking, talking, running. My neighbors having a party. Wind, rain, snow, lightning. I watch all of these things out of my window, and I never have to experience them; I am an outsider (or I guess the appropriate term would be insider) simply looking on.

I pray this is not how I will always be living my life. I want to be the one looked at instead of the one looking. I need people to know who I am. I am so sick of this boring life I have. Sure, there are some intersting people in it, but how do I get an exciting life?

I've had experiences. I've felt love for a boy. I've been in his arms and felt safe like I never wanted to feel any other way. I've known for sure that all I ever wanted was to be with him forever. But now that I'm separated from that feeling, I know there are more exciting things out there, and it's not worth giving them up. I've felt the numbing sting of the death of a loved one, a cousin and a best friend. That painful revelation that I'll never speak with him again. That day when you finally get it; he's gone.

I've seen some extraordinary things and been some places that left me speechless. I've been to the top of the Empire State Building, looking down on the night that is just as bright as day; I felt like I could conquer the world if I could just live in NYC. I've been to Ellis Island and felt the souls of the uncountable hungry immigrants, longing for a place for refuge. I've been to the Tower of London and touched the stones of an ancient castle still standing valiantly as a symbol of harshness and torture as well as strength and hope. I've been to Canterbury Cathedral and prayed in the same spot the celebrated martyr prayed and died. These experiences were no doubt exciting when they happened, but now they are just memories and seem about as real as the things I make up in my head to occupy my day. How long can memories sit in your head before the cease being real?

After all of these experiences, my life still just feels boring. I am so discustingly mediocre. My only fear metamorphosed into my only reality.