I’d laugh but there’s no one around to hear. It’s still funny. You always feel like a kid. It’s always a little bit there, inside of you, but you learn to balance it all out, to sit still. You learn to let that kid learn.
“Sometimes I get so lonely I forget what day it is and how to spell my name.”
Sometimes you watch a movie or read a book or meet a person at the exact right time that you should. And sometimes you don’t. Despite all this time, I am not used to being alone. And I try to think to when I really was alone before- and I realize I’ve never been alone, not really. A sibling, a roommate, a boyfriend, a neighbor, a friend. A social circle. And I realize even now I could be lonelier. How important it is to me, suddenly, to speak my thoughts aloud (how inarticulate I’ve become), how important it is to touch arms in the morning-to brush shoulders as we walk, to make eye contact during a laugh at a TV show or a movie joke. To share.
And I’m alone in this world of people who aren’t. Who don’t want to be, who can’t be. We all get so lonely. And I realize I could go on like this if I want. I could just keep being alone. And the solitude stretches out beyond me. The timelessness of the proposal is so appealing. How much easier it would all roll off of me.
Sometimes though to be seen with someone is enough. Look, I really exist. I matter.
I want someone to dance with me–in the living room, in the shower. I want someone to stay up with me, despite our better judgment and watch the sunrise. A sit in the dew. I want someone to walk with me. I want someone to drop their worries on me, to have tea with me in the morning, to drive with me to close places, to make me feel self-conscious, obvious, and aware.