What’s it feel like when no one checks up on your existence? You’re basically left all alone to suffer, to rejoice, to have momentarily glimpses of euphoria. You’d like to share your good news with someone, but everyone’s too busy doing something else to hear. You’re tired of shouting out for help, and you’ve pretty much given up on making any new friends. No one really understands you, though you like to think that you’re very good at understanding others. It fucking sucks to be alone, does it not? Your whole world could be condensed and made more manageable if only you had one person to talk to on a consistent basis, but even that small hope seems faint. It’s fucking spectacular how absurd all of this can be. We are the very people that we wish to meet elsewhere. Other people are waiting on us to enter into their lives as we are waiting on others to enter into ours. We’re all fucking terrified to make moves, so we’ve convinced ourselves that it’s better to remain motionless. It sucks when such a realization is observed. Is it by happy accident, then, that people find happiness and others to share happiness with? We can always try to convince ourselves otherwise. We have time to call ourselves worthwhile.
