Sometimes it seems it is better to be lonely than to be in love. This seems more so when you realize that you are nearing the end of earthly existence and currently descending far past the pinnacle that was unknowingly crossed in the dead of the night of your complacency. You think about all those near misses in an earlier time. Names that often escape you. Faces that you can no longer recall. The ones that hurt so terribly bad when you both had reached that point when everything was no longer possible. The loneliness then, and this loneliness now, so radically dissimilar. For then there was constant animal desire to drive you on and now happily, just a memory. I pity those who grow old together for they must one day face the unbearably wrenching pain of seeing their other half fade and fade and then finally disappear. Suffer all the stages of apprehension then turning into fear and finally fall to resignation in farewells. Who hurts more? You go through that once or possibly twice and you can never be the same. The life preserver with your name imprinted is never cast out as far from those days hence. You are like a pumice stone that floats irritatingly upon the water’s surface unable to sink to that rock bottom you formerly had hit. Once again, complacent. The clock inside just ticks and ticks and ticks and you just get bored. This latest set of habits that you most recently developed at this end time the only thing to look forwards to. The rest is just a slow journey to an unexpected circumstance for that final fatal rendezvous. This knowledge you carry upon your back like a hump. Your physical framework has become old and saggy and pathetic. You look like someone else’s grandparent. “Who could live this?“, you shake your head in the finality of disgust turning away from every reflection. The rock floats on, dancing on the counter imposition of varying currents. Life goes on obliviously around you. You are simply a voyeur now. A sorter of memories that fall back out of place as soon as they are piled. Someone ever so much more suited to that long lost impossible vision of an eternally beautiful maiden that never existed. But one that was ever alive within your heart’s notion of the perfect match. You are that match. You realize that there is a side of you that never existed! But that your truly believed like every other fool was palpably ever-present. It was your own belief about what you were and what you really wanted. Fantasy! All fantasy. You are him no longer. You never were. The truth is not so bad as the loss.
You Are Now Everything That You Never Were All Along