I’ve learned that with people like me, who have taken absurd exception to the ability of expressing their love or concern with words and pleasant actions, life is a lot tougher and usually passes in absolute isolation. I’ve always been a staunch supporter of showing love but it just doesn’t happen when it should, and on other times, it is just not as relevant.
There have been people I’ve loved more than I’ve loved myself, I’ve been there for them whenever time and situations demanded but life has found ways to befool me in ways that I fail to understand. You know, that feeling you get when somebody who has your heart comes and tell you that they’re disappointed because they feel they don’t hold a lot of worth in your life. That feeling is quite similar to being punched in the middle of your chest and you just wouldn’t catch back breath until it settles in. And well, it never does.
I am not really an introvert, never been one. I mean I won’t count as an introvert unless I unbecome the chatter box that I am right? However, letting people in my inner shell is a task. I want to show them the real person that I am but it just doesn’t happen, not until I lock horns with own self and rebellion is just not my thing. And you know, explaining people what lonely means to me is so tough that I’d better shut up and let what they throw at me sink. And sometimes, I become so unaware of my surroundings that what I feel becomes surreal. I am not lost, not really but it happens in a heartbeat and suddenly, I’m paying more attention to what my nails look like or what the universe is made of. You know, like I’m treading a path that I don’t know the direction of but I want to keep walking because what people tell me has become a routine, like my inner self knows will come some day sooner or later. In fact, my inner self constantly lives in a fear of it and whenever it happens, I feel like I have to walk faster and faster. Often times, I want somebody to catch my hand while I’m telling them to leave me alone and hold me with such love that this entire drama of vulnerable lonely self disappears but apparently, life is too demanding and people too impatient.
Sometimes, I think it is really selfish of me to expect them to understand when even I am not sure about what I feel, what am I doing and where am I going. Life is a silly thing that makes us believe that the world should revolve around us and believe me, it has really clever ways of doing so. I’ve accepted things as they are because they’ve been this way for as long as I can remember and forever is a long time right? I’m not unhappy but I’m not happy either and there’s a lot of difference that only people hanging in the middle would understand. Life is so underrated and so misunderstood. It is so romanticised that it has lost meaning for most of us who live in a constant paranoia. I think, there can be 2 people, both lonely and yet in ways so different that they’d never get to each other. I wonder why it is so difficult to tell them what you feel, I know it is really tough because even words fail me when I want to write them about it. This too shall pass.