To Be Loved/To Be Alone

I’ve always been going in the same direction,

but I have never known where I was going.

I know there has to be something,



that will let me rest,

let me realise that I’m done exploring and expecting,

but every time the planet dances with the sun,

I get less and less sure that I was meant to find it.

I don’t call myself lonely, anymore.

I don’t call myself anything at all,

getting through life as a ghost,

vanishing through walls,

out of existence,

with no anticipation that the room will chill,

or that an exorcist will be called.

I used to want people to notice me,

but now I know it’s too much trouble,

because I could never stop myself from finding some way to love them,

and when you love them,

you’ve signed your own death warrant.

I die, all the time, you know.

Lack of self control,

lack of self preservation,

because all I want is to feel something substantial,

after all,

I have all this stuff I can’t keep hold of,

all this love that needs looking after,

and I don’t think that anyone really understands.

It’s deeply unpleasant,

to talk like you’re the only one experiencing something,

to say that you’re something really special,

but it’s even worse to realise that you’re probably right,

just not in the way you think that you are.

Manic, mindless love went out of style before you were born,

and you don’t know how to do it any other way,

so there you are,

at the mercy of a world too modern for your analogue affections,

knowing you’ll never really find someone who can meet you in the middle,

smiling from the other side of the mirror,

because the mirrors are all smashed and shattered,

and we are all alone.

You are all alone.

You just want it to mean something when you’re touched,

but it’s always too much to ask,

too much trust has to be given,

when you know there will be no return,

but you must,

because there’s just no other way to get on in this life,

so you pretend to get off,

when all you want is to get it over with,

get to the end, intact,

get to the part where they don’t make you feel cheap,

get to the part where you don’t cry yourself to sleep,

but it never comes,

because this isn’t that kind of world,

and you’re looking for dead things in the land of the living.

One response to “To Be Loved/To Be Alone”

  1. My throat feels sore from reading this. It’s an absolutely delightful yet heart wrenching piece. Thank you for being so honest, xo!

    Liked by 2 people

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