Loneliness could be depicted as one of the most harrowing experiences. For me it’s how misunderstood I am to people I’ve held close to my heart. It used to be painful how they didn’t understand me like I wished they would, but happily, I’ve grown past that and no longer require their understanding. I’m okay on my own. Without the misconceptions and judgment. All the validation I need, I grant it for myself. It only gets insanely difficult when the few people I allow into the inner inhibitions of my soul and mind end up treating me like a mere afterthought. But that’s for me to overcome. We don’t all have the same heart, mind, or soul. They won’t always love you as you love them, not every time.
I’m out on a little dopamine chase – doing something exhilarating and exciting. It felt a little scary coming here alone, to sit with my thoughts. The only downside is that this feels so lonely. Nevertheless, this feels unnerving to a girl who used to drop everything just to be alone with her thoughts. Maybe because I don’t want to be alone anymore. But that doesn’t suffice having to sit with people who loot my mind. I crave company that allows me to breathe without ventilating. To be honest, I both despise and love being alone. I hate that anyone I want to call is a bad idea. I hate that I’ve run out of people to life with.
Notting Hill comes to mind when I see this park. Oh, what a movie. I love love love the film. The benches, the lush life, and the tranquillity of it all. At this hour of the night, it’s quite pleasant. This city rarely gives us something so peaceful.
I feel like the discounted version of Julia Roberts without Hugh Grant, alone in this bench without a shoulder to lean on, listening to distinct chatter and bustling traffic through my AirPods, afraid if I’m not wary of my surroundings, I might run into bad company. Because it’s beyond midnight, it’s obviously not safe. However, I hope I am. This was something I really needed. I’m here, unwillingly stranded, in a world that’s moving forward.
This takes me back to when I used to run away from home, after arguments with my mother. I’d slam the door and walk away, not knowing where I was going, until I calmed down, which typically happens by the time I reach anywhere I see the sea. The ocean itself inspires us, reminding us of how insignificant our worries are in comparison to the expanse of the universe. And it’s for this reason that it’s tempting to escape the little box that is called life, so you don’t feel bound to and defined by your suffering.
When I don’t return and it’s late, she would come and find me. I never go anywhere new, she knows where I would be. She’d be enraged every time, and I’d be grateful that she showed up. For the rebel in me, it’s always a tremendous win – running away to see if she cared enough to come and find me. Now that has transpired into pushing people away to see if they’d care enough to climb over the walls I’ve built, all in hopes of assessing their intent.
Now, as an adult, she’s not going to think I’ve run away, and I haven’t. But it would be nice to be picked up, instead of having to catch another lonely cab home. That simply means that we never grow up and that the wounded children within us still get the best of our adult lives on occasion.
She Was Sea 