Loneliness
You capture me. Your smiles and laughter. Feeling as though it were a dream that I can only remember when triggered by a smell, a word. A sixth sense.
Campfires. Flannel. Wine. You pull me in. Entice me with the flame of a bond I am not sure I once felt. I am but an observer of your warmth. I ebb and flow, in and out of your circle. But only as an unnecessary part. The circle remains complete without my presence.
But we enjoy one another.
Friends that are family. I have longed for you. And yet I sit upright, smiling and chatting, pretending I am not a prisoner in my soul.
I reject the thought that I am too much. That my love overwhelms. My acceptance absurd. I beat my mind into an unbalanced form of submission. I hold onto hope; meanwhile wondering if my ideals were released long ago, like a child's balloon.
Meanwhile. The flame of your love lets off warmth, invites the coldness of my feet to come closer.
Isolation's comfort pulls me back in. It lies to me with the thread count of its sheet. It covers me and gives me a space in which to hide.
It must be me.
I know by now. After these years that pass, I know that the community for which I long is only a foreshadowing in this life. But still, its warmth. Its hidden language, woven in and out of laughter and silence, wrapped up in blankets of knowing and being known. It draws me in.
And yet my smile and my laughter and my independent spirit pull me away from the brightness of vulnerability in which I once basked. Overcome by what I once believed was my place, I find myself a hopeless wanderer. Grounded only by my children. As they grow and become more independent, I wonder what will ground me next.
Or will I drift away, like a child's balloon, identified only by my muted colors, floating freely above the earth.
Alone.
