Lonely

sufey

In Personal, Read Posted December 18, 2012

Loneliness hits me in big Bed.

He boasts of luxury: a smirk of king, silky threads, full spreads, soft as a cat’s claws paws. Simpering of excess for my small self, I sink in.

How he’d bully my bare blanket back home, I think.

Lights glitter frantically down below, clamoring for attention, screeching like Cindy’s stepsisters, pick me, pick me! I am the brightest, yes, the brightest of them all!

I close the curtains.

Blackness cuts corners, crevices, and Loneliness hits me.

Loneliness, an old, familiar friend. I say friend, for he is too close to be merely acquaintance, too generous to be called enemy.

He hugs me tightly, too tight, I choke, sinking into harsh extravagance. I cry. My cheeks flush rubies and as the floods free… I am free also.

Loneliness, a messenger boy. Sent by the Universe.

To remind me: pleasure comes not with property, but passion ablaze. Luxury is lonely without love. And the greatest joy is humble, unassuming, earnest and simple.

Like the way a child laughs and laughs and laughs at nothing particularly funny. The way it becomes contagious. And how it hurts, and we can’t breathe anymore.

I laugh.

Loneliness leaves, Sleep seeps in.