Loneliness. She’s a strange thing.
A silent slunker. A quiet house guest who slurps her tea too loudly.
Slurpppp. Slurpppp. Just to remind you that she’s there.
Around. Using moments when the house gets still & life stops moving at night to wear you down and water your bones with the thought that just might be it: Alone.
A word we’ve too long cluttered with the thoughts of Unwanted & Apart & Isolated. All the words we convinced ourselves were never quite acceptable for the ones with the world in their hands.
You’ll push her off. Turn your cheek. Turn over the pillow. Turn up the volume. Turn on the phone to slide through a News Feed that will convince you: You’ve got people. They love you. They care. This feeling is temporary. Oh, so temporary. As you let the tears ripple in.
And so you tuck.
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At some point, the mere way you pour your coffee is going to convict you.
How you fold your clothes. & what you pack in that bag. & where you are going. & when. & when?
The things of the Every Day will bellow & boil with Bigger Questions: Why am I here? What am I doing? Is it making me happy? Or, is this all there is?
What happened to those feelings, those feelings I used to have that always made me feel like wearing party dresses in July? Tell me, do those feelings stir here?
I am just a girl who can promise you sound syllables & all sorts of deep cutting language. I can give you imagery that floats—like the birthday balloons gone running & away from their tied spot to the back of the lawn chair but I cannot promise you a lifetime. I…
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