Not a popular one but a star.
“It depends.” As ambiguous as that.
Whether there are people or pets waiting for me somewhere or not is rather insignificant.
Because loneliness kicks in and blurs the surroundings.
The blurring doesn’t even mean blindness.
Quite the contrary, to me, it means clarity.
The clearness of the separation within and among the people around you, the loss of passionate connection and the feeling of sour boredom become absolute.
And yet that’s far from being lonely.
I wonder what this is to others. Even more so to myself since people aren’t curious about my ‘’loneliness.’’
What a strange feeling.
Just how weird people are…
I, too, am weird having these strange feelings.
Always the worst kind.
A pin-like pain somewhere in my body that grows, weighs and metastasized but in a stealth mode.
a growing body with growing pains.
It is what it is. “Loneliness.” Just as it is lovely. It’s a crucifixion.
It’s a succession of all these words and emotions within words, words summoning deep intrusive feelings that run with borders. And sometimes, wild like a melting iron.
But the end does not really change the beginning nor does it stop the end.
Of course, there are also moments of happiness around it.
Perhaps, it’s missing some key points in a questionnaire or,
a riddle that takes long hours to guess
a friend who never notices
a family away for good even when they are right under your nose.
Yet, there still remains the question “What does it mean?”
With eyes gazing somewhere else.
And smiles kept to oneself.
Sighs that are plowed from deep within.
And bodies dread just like the beginning.
Jet black feelings of wanting to be that star that lives in your eyes and the air that spurts out of your divine lips even though, they spread like ammonia. Even though they burn like briquette. Even though they delight like a fragrant poison.
I am neither too close nor too far from it.
Neither warm or cold from the gushing sound it makes behind my earlobes when dawn starts to tear me apart as I get off from work and right before I lay in my bed.
Now, it’s getting more comfortable. The unfamiliar becomes natural. How there’s no way to know what lies beyond as we only see what’s suitable.
For a moment, I was taken aback by such loneliness that would now require a cool presence. From the formless image to the now awkward being that is gradually taking form carrying the memories that were once locked away inside the core of an unwilted flower.
The likes of a new day that peels off my unwanted skin after soaking wet from the moonlight’s overspilt charms.
a certain kind of presence with a certain kind of romance.
Someone who’d be taller than his neck but shorter than the back of his palm. Someone gentler, someone who never lacks sincerity. Someone who is just like the Spring that readily sweeps off Winter to run a few tricks and make flowers blossom. Someone shrewd. Someone who looks beyond the window but sees through the little gestures and the actions that may resort to hatred when left unseen. Someone who does not spread words for free breakfast or for a tasty appetizer. Someone who doesn’t close tightly like a rare music box. Someone who opens up stories about his painful childhood. Someone too authentic to be ignored.
The world is crazy. But at least he owns a heart that can recognize a ballad.
Perhaps such a formless being will acknowledge the pain that cuts walls… perhaps, this loneliness wouldn’t fall into deaf ears.
Perhaps, he can notice my struggles first as if a brilliant star in a dark-filled realm. Perhaps, he can watch me closely to notice the red signs that were left undelivered by the hands, eyes, and lips.
A star with her comfortable loneliness can be quite noticeable through her awkward gait.