Alone is to be Alone

A friend. A best friend. Where is my best friend? It seems like I cannot find my way amongst the living. 

I used to be able to blend in and seem normal. But something happened. 

Experience, I believe, happened. My open heart was closed shut by the tragedies of yesterday. 

Like old newspaper turned yellow, but was once interesting and pristine. Now, dirtied by the outside world.

Things happen to us, good and bad. I believe everything happens for a reason, because each time, I learn.

Cumbersome and sorrowful, or even joyous and benevolent. 

Social circumstances eventually became easy, and the burden of loneliness subsided for the time being. 

Later on in life, the loneliness crept back in somehow and spread like a plague. 

It feels like trying to dig my way out of a hole six feet deep, with dirt as dry and hard as a desert floor. 

It is a plague. Personal as it is, it haunts until you feel it so far down in your soul, that you forget to feel sad about it. 

The feeling of self-pity quiets for a while and you actually become used to being solo. 

Like an animal that prefers to be alone, so there is no competition. Sometimes there is no sense to it. 

Feelings don't make sense sometimes. There is only the feeling, alone. 

Nothing else can truly explain why sometimes it feels okay to be alone... 

But that is denial.

It doesn't feel okay. It feels like I'm splitting in half, starting at my heart.

The sensation of being placed on the rack, a torture device used to stretch you from limb to limb.

Trying to make friends is like rocket science now. I can't seem to make sense of it.

What on Earth is wrong with me? Every attempt seems to fail, or putter out.

The next best thing is to climb back on the horse, and do so, no matter how many times I fall off.

Relearning what feels comfortable, and finding that one true best friend.