Fictional prose | Summing up | Loneliness | Life
Defining Alone
It means if you don’t have anyone, take it as a partner
If I had to define what it is to be alone, the symptoms and the result appear always to be different. If it is enough to say you believed yourself to be alone, you probably were. Seemingly, and as hard as one might try, there is almost no way to circumvent or avoid its coming — even if you see it approaching in the distance. But most often, alone can be reasoned with, and it passes.
Someone comes by and makes it pass. If not, take it as a partner. We’ve all known worse.
I am not a joiner unless you’re someone standing at a bar. I’m alone more often than I should be because I try to find security within myself.
Being a man alone, mentally and otherwise, I can detail the advantages of masturbation: not having to dress up, sure not to disappoint anyone, done on my own time at an appointed place; it is, in my humble opinion, a point of view hardly arguable.
Alone, like love, regardless of what the primers say, can be a noun, pronoun, adverb, or adjective — depending on its use and the extent to which it comes, stays, or returns to your life. Darkness and retreat have more than once been my cover. By now, I’ve traveled deep enough into the night that hiking back through any clearing is a journey not taken without some thought.
I plan my nightly outings, awaiting them through the day, and with approaching darkness, work myself into an apathy that a closing battle line could not penetrate. I always try to figure out what I miss by not staying home.
Whatever should have been or is, it is over, never started or never was. Doubtlessly, I’ve avoided disappointments that might have chipped away a little more of my self-confidence.
Choosing the shadows, not having them pick me, is a place I can remain secure, not because I feel plain, but because disappearance is the easier way. I do not advocate being alone but recommend it rather than being with anybody. In the morning, I take myself to the sun alone — always at the ocean’s edge, close enough to retreat from the waves, at ease should the beautiful enemy pass by. The need to merely touch someone I’ve seen or imagined can be so great sometimes that it’s as close to madness as I hope to come.
I have known two minds and bodies seemingly compatible to meet in love yet be so alone together you would swear they’d never met. I believe centuries can seemingly go by before two people meet in some unique way that causes an end to their individual loneliness.
Much of what is written this last year is new. Since I go on being the same man trying to find the answers to some of the same questions. If I must describe them, personal and private come to mind. But those words, too, have been nouns, pronouns, verbs — far more than adjectives.
I set myself under sail, chopping through the seas, passing by, coming by, but the sea is endless, and I’ve been known to meet myself coming around again.
I’ve tried walking straight lines, suitable for little more than proving I’m sober. We come into the world alone, leaving the same way. It’s a good idea to spend the in-between time in closeness, but it’s a long way from the morning to the evening.
These words are personal and private, so why let them go? Why not? There is a slight chance that someone will read, understand, even stop and turn in my direction.
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