Lonely Nights
I am an old haunt frequented by the cruel, unforgiving ghosts of loneliness. Haunted by the specters of old friends and tantalizing memories of happiness. I am the shadow of a person you knew. I am a ghost haunting these four walls. I howl and weep yet make no sound. From behind my window I watch the world move on without me, without anyone seeing me. I sit still in the eye of the hurricane as the world spirals ferociously around me. The loneliness claws itself out of the depths of my heart, and it consumes every inch of my withering body. It makes me feel mad, like a rabid animal that has been cornered. At last, the loneliness settles, deep in my bones, becomes one with my being. It is so indelibly mine, intertwined with every breath I take, every word I speak and everything I feel.
It feels undeniably real and tangible, almost like I could reach out and grasp it. It creeps in, quietly yet steadily, even on the good days, ceaselessly reminding me that the loneliness is always there, waiting. It is pervasive, it will follow me everywhere I go because it lives in me, it colors all my endeavors: everything I do is defined by my loneliness. There’s no escaping the yearning, no relief from the constant emptiness that bears down on me like a weight. The loneliness swells within and rots me from the inside out. I am an open wound, always festering yet never quite healed.
It forces me to live with the worst of me, the broken, hopeless parts that I meet only when I am defeated and on my knees. The loneliness renders me helpless against my dastardly mind. The questions pound inside my head - Will I ever find words to name the demons that haunt me? Will I ever be free of the noose around my neck? Will the words break free past the rock lodged in my throat? Will I ever break free of the glass that separates me from the world? Will I ever recognize the face in the mirror? Will these storms wash away the despair? Will I make it out of the hurricane and find salvation?
I am forced to reckon with my dark, twisted fears and the exquisite horror of life in this world. Will they remember me? Will they remember the person I used to be – the one that dreamed and laughed? Or will they remember the shriveled husk that I have become now? The questions swirl around my head, incessant and relentless - cruel reminders of what I have lost. It makes me weary and woeful. It has turned me into a weeping phantom, wailing for the company of another.