Except for the dog, I am alone in a hotel room. It is something o'clock in the morning and through the thin building walls I can hear someone singing Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen.
Every now and then, I am confronted with the weirdness of lonely.
It is the weirdness of standing in a roomful of people and being certain that you have developed the power of invisibility; the weirdness of being able to move in and out of crowds, around them seamlessly because you are more shadow than substance. 'Going through the motions' was never more apropos.
Lonely is the weirdness of watching yourself change; feeling helpless to stop it; and then plotting your own demise in a vain, pitiable, pathetic attempt to counteract it. Lonely is knowing yourself too well for your own good- both lonely and knowledge are simultaneously insidious and challenging and terrifying. Your Self, after all, is not a good one.
Lonely is the weirdness of a dream scream- opening your mouth wide to cry out, call out, beg for help… only to find that you have no voice. You are rendered helpless by silence.
It is the weirdness of a self fulfilling prophecy. I am lonely, I am disheartened, so I separate myself in an attempt to keep those around me from getting stained by the strength and pull of my emotion. Which makes me lonelier and isolated. It makes me a masterpiece.
Lonely is a reality check. And a rather potent one, at that. It's that poke in the back; pinch on the arm; flick on the shoulder. 'Watch yourself,' it says, 'cause nobody else is.'
And with that. A walk for the pup.
Until next time, dear ones.
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