being self centred?

I think I'm somehow unconciously self centred. Very. I don't know why I do some things but it's probably due to the fact that I unknowingly crave attention. Like when I try to be ignored, I want people to notice that. Sad.

All the conversations I've had for a week are circle around a certain someone. Why? And all the respondents tell me one thing: They're so proud of me and wish that they could be like me; so selfless and so sacrificing; I'm a nice person and yadda yadda yadda. I wonder, how on God's Most High and Blessed Name did the conversation get to that? I seem to unwittingly steer it to that corner. Always. Always always. Always always always. Is it that I crave people's admiration? Do I seek attention from others? I really don't know. Someone please tell me.

Somehow, I seem to have a total lack of emotions other than anger and annoyance these days. Those are the only two I can perceive. Otherwise, it is emptiness. Void. Nothingness. The Abyss of Total Lack of Anything. And I am afraid, though logically, not emotionally. All this while, though I never noticed it, I have been a very emotionless being. Very. Despite what everyone sees, my soul is an unrippled pool. Infinitely deep and infinitely shallow. Infinitely wide and infinitely narrow.

So now I'm wondering if I really am in love, or thinking that I am. I don't want to be the thinking one. But it seems that I might be. People talk of this heart skipping a beat, fiery passion and stuff, but I don't seem to have any of these. It's just a very deep solid feeling. Nothing jumpy or hot and spicy and the like. Maybe I have skipped romantic love and moved striaight to the mature? I sincerely wish not. It's like being told to be an adult while you're still a child. And I am. Age means little if you've not grown up. I stayed up much last night talking to people about it, but not mentioning much. And I have not found any answers. Maybe that is for her to give me?

Sigh. Melancholy is such an overused word. Cliched even. And I can't get one of those wavy line thingies above the e. And poetry best written comes from the eyes of those most smitten. Sigh.

Joyous Nothing

I cry and cry
But I feel no pain
I sigh and sigh
Though there is no rain

I wish that I could feel
Something in this soul of mine
That could tell me
What is my divine

I shout and shout
But I feel no anger
I laugh and laugh
No humor anchors

I wish that I could feel
Something in this heart of mine
That could tell me
When is it my time

I despair and despair
But go on laughing
I rage and rage
Over my joyous nothing