The title here just seemed like a cool thing to write — or rather a warm thing.
I often find myself contemplating whether my sense of 'loneliness' is perhaps just my sense of 'boredom'. I am easily underwhelmed by these mundane leisures, perhaps my seeking of 'company' is only just my seeking for a sense of adventure.
It's no lie that I gravitate towards new things. People, experiences, activities. The eccentricity of something different, something out-of-routine is so magnetic for someone who puts the rest of their life on pause while they stick to a routine for 4 months. Couple that with attention, a little bit of similar tastes and a knack for conversation, and you have the best time. Unfortunately, as I know too well by now, conversations like this with short-time hyper-intimate friendships never end well for me. It is not too late after these conversations have subsided that I eventually discover people for who they are: typical, ordinary, un-loyal, untrustworthy, definitely not in it for 100% like me, annoying, disrespectful, full of non-negotiable vices, two-faced, and worst of all, uninteresting.
And yet, I fall for them.
Relationships of any kind — friendships, acquaintance-ships, hatered-ships, anything —with me, are intense, deep, and never in the least temporary. If I have felt for you once, I will keep feeling for you for as long as I live. No amount of poetry, or work, or movies, or studies, or any other repetitive mind-exhausting hell I put myself through will seem to make that cease. It's taxing, really.
I wonder if people who speak to me assume I am hard to fall in love. It is the opposite, of course. I fall in love much too easily. It's one of the traits that will ruin me. The only protection I can offer myself? Leave before you get attached. Cause the other person will NEVER feel the same way as you do. And if they do, and the moment that they do, they will make it so that you will NEVER be able to feel the same way with them.
I think some of this is hypocritical too though. Like if there were any confrontation of feelings, I will decline having that magnitude of that attachment to a person, because genuinely, when it comes to genuinely considering if I have feelings for that person, it will only ever translate to a clear, honest, matter-of-fact-like no; but every other time, God, it sure feels like pretty damn close to it.
Hyper-intimate, short-term moments. I believe that my life is only just a series of those, no real memories. How is it that I know so much about people, such small details about strangers who have somehow confessed or confided or conversed so much with me, and yet we are not even close? Does anyone even know how many sisters I have, let alone their names? This is basic stuff. Why do I remember everyone's details and no one really remembers mine?
The truth is, I don't really care if they do, maybe I'd even prefer skipping the basic stuff. I just want someone to lie down with me in the football field at sunset and talk about the most random things for hours. I want someone whose shoulder I can rest my head on when I'm tired in the library, and who I can ask to bring me fries when I'm hungry without it sounding like a favour. I want this out of friendships only, the bare minimum.
But I don't exactly need this, do I? Not really. Not at all. And the people I could have wanted this with, I can't have any of this with not even if we were friends. So what is the point? What is the point of anything?
All this that I have just written is riddled with thoughts and statements I didn't fully explain or accurately out into words and it bothers me that every single time I try to pen this, I write something absurd that doesn't even slightly capture what I set out to finally spill from my mind. To want to explain, and not be able to, is sad. To want to explain, and to not have anyone care about it, is also sad. Who am I even explaining to? Is this turning into the teenage-diary I never had? I don't even know why I'm writing...
