for people like me, isolation is necessary.
sometimes i have this urgent need to lie on the floor, knees drawn to my chest, buried in my thoughts. i can laugh then—or cry. it doesn’t matter, because i’m alone. no questions asked.
for people like me, isolation is necessary.
i can have ten cups of tea, pacing back and forth with no destination in mind, only the same questions looping endlessly: am i enough? should i be enough? what is the meaning of enough—to me, to others? am i doing enough to exist on this earth? i pace, put my cup down, pick it up again, stare out the window for endless hours until the tea loses its heat—then add more hot water and start over. no goal in mind. these things don’t matter when you’re alone. no questions would be asked.
for people like me, isolation is necessary.
i don’t have to put on a show, prove the importance of my existence. i know i’m just a drop in the vast ocean. if i disappeared, no one would notice. like every other drop, like the waves, we all come and go. i can sit down, pen in hand, and sob at the insignificance i carry. cry for the love i’ve lost, love i never had, and the person i couldn’t be. drain myself completely, so tomorrow i can put the mask back on and do it all over again. these things don’t matter when you’re alone. no questions would be asked.
for people like me, isolation is necessary.
my outward life must constantly reflect my inward state, stay in sync. without it, my body moves on autopilot, disconnected from consciousness. that happens whenever i’m around people. i need these moments to tune into myself—and i can only do it alone. no questions would be asked.
for people like me, isolation is necessary.
because i don’t care for anyone. and for those i do care about, i can’t emote. and for those i could, they’re long gone or out of reach. i can’t perform anymore. i can’t be good anymore. i can’t hold on anymore. and these things don’t matter when you’re alone. no questions would be asked.