It’s like a never-ending cry for help,
like I’m sinking in a sea of mattresses with springs that don’t work.
It feels like I am formally uninvited to my own party,
and all of the guests are still arriving.
I feel so alone,
and not the type of comfortable alone that is appreciated on cold Sunday afternoons with a cup of hot tea and a Tarantino film,
but the type of alone that makes black and white feel like color.
The type of alone that makes walls feel like people,
that makes the TV seem interactive.
It’s the type of alone that forces one to realize that they will never stop feeling this way,
the way elderly feel when surrounded by technology,
the way newborns feel when surrounded by people.
I am uncomfortable. It is the feeling of an uncomfortable loneliness,
that forces me to isolate myself from commitment,
because every time I make a commitment with a person,
they get to know me, they realize who I am, and they dash so quickly that I forget to even ask why.
Absence without a reason creates the constant desire to be alone,
because without people to worry about,
without commitments to care about,
there will be no one dashing from your life without notice,
and you will finally be comfortably alone.