People are so afraid of being alone. They hover in groups and hate goodbyes to the point of never saying them at all, even when farewells are more than called for.
I am not afraid of being alone, not particularly. Because of this, I have found it almost painfully easily to slip out of the vast matrix of social connections and simply drift, untethered by nothing but my own unrealistic expectations for how the play of life ought to be executed. There is a simplicity in isolation that I find dearly fascinating, though recently I have found myself more and more attracted to the complicated glow of friendship. To those sparks that leap between eyes and spark up in sharp bursts of laughter. I have watched friendships play out, have observed how people interact with one another, and have tried to attach something quantifiable to the things that connect them, but I seem to be incapable of recreating those same things in my own life.
Human connection is such a delicate thing; it is a plant that will die if transplanted into unworthy soil. Genuine ties between souls refuse to be artificially manufactured with some ulterior motive in mind, but my only motive is to be loved. I don’t understand how connection has evaded me for so long if not simply because of my own lack of willingness to trust my well-being to another. I do not believe that to be a crime. But I have seen less trusting people than I form fully functional and long-lasting relationships with relatively little effort that I can see. They just spin themselves into groups, cocooning themselves up in these lovely warm pods of mutual good will. Pods break apart and splinter before drawing back together, sure as sunshine. It is difficult to quantify something that holds such complex motivations yet such simple outcomes. It’s such a joke, really, some endless jest with the punchline all wrapped up in the question. If I pay more attention maybe I’ll catch it. Maybe then I’ll finally be in on the joke.
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