Walls
I stare at the screen for the 6th time that hour. 8 missed calls. I count to 10.
I’m spiralling down to the hole in the ground where I hide” — The Final Cut, Pink Floyd
On most days, I wake up with an acute sense of loneliness.
I cannot place where it comes from but it spreads like mold into the crevices of my bones as the day goes by.
I walk around the house with this dark cloud hanging over me, dampening every corner with a little drizzle of melancholy now and again.
Reaching out is easy in theory.
A step forward is all it would take for someone to wave at the tiny window, look through my four walls of self-imposed emotional isolation. In practice, that’s where the real trouble lies.
Where do I begin with the pressure that builds in my chest as I prepare to establish contact?
It’s been a long time since we met but I’ve been living inside my head again
Some days, I lay down brick after brick in an attempt to bridge the chasm that’s appeared between us but even as I do it, I know I will eventually set it on fire.
The distance is hard to navigate. I sit with you, shoulders touching, while my being is far away.
I can’t help but think you know. You see my eyes glaze over and you know I’ve taken off again. A confrontation is in order.
It’s always been this way, hasn't it?
Words fall short even when I’m full of them. A deep longing to connect, to be known, and to be understood torments me.
I want to tell you that I’m doing just fine by myself but I’m not.
I’m the kind of person that will forever look for a piece of themself in everyone else and I’ve made peace with it.
