Running out on Patience

Bored, not disappointed. Expected, not irritated.

Why do I feel so alone, so uneasy, so uncertain, so uncontent? I talk with people for hours and it feels like I've accomplished nothing. Do I not place value in other people? I care for others, I take pride in others as much as myself, even boastful of others talents. But I still feel this... this gnawing at my insides for more, like my heart knows that my brain is wasting what time it's been given.

Why is it so difficult for me to explain and moreso for you to accept? Because it isn't what you wish it to be? Everyone says they understand but they are in a different world. Nothing about me can or should be changed, its because of everything that's happened that I turned out this way. Am I ashamed? No, never, and I refuse to be.

Why am I always left wanting after I finish a song, movie, or book?

Was I born in the wrong era that I feel more comfortable with a sword than a cell phone? A rifle rather than technology? A soldier rather than scholar?

Taken for granted. Why don't I yearn for knowledge? Why do I lose enthusiasm, where does the motivation come from?

I am uncertainty. I am irresponsibility. I am uncertainty.

But I am feeling more contented now. I'm not small, I don't understand you, but than again, none of you understand me either. You would be as lost where I have been as I am where you are.

Introvert.

Wishing for what I was, but wanting what I have.