What qualifies a connection to you? Better stated, when was the last time you felt lonely?
Free from instant message groups or any interpersonal hangouts, I could certainly entertain a petition that, perhaps, I could be lonely.
But you know, I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not sure what “lonely” means. It seems like a suitcase sort of word where you stuff all the things you figure meant something, however long you want to sustain this idea of a “tour” and a “sojourn” of one’s life. Hoping that the dots inevitably connect with a crown jewel of another. Of one fated moment: a psychic shock found submerged in cotton-candy districts.
But you see, it’s foreign now. It’s hard to say what it means to be lonely. The suitcase is all empty for me now. Dropping the suitcase so instead I immerse myself around – there are so many things teeming with life around us, and – even just a week ago – you could’ve caught me detesting how online things aren’t real, nor real life things either.
But it’s precisely the opposite. There’s a pulse of existence to feel, and we can all conveniently tune into the pulses between major corporate sites too. The orchestra is in your pocket.
But!– you may protest – these things happen with or without me. Where do I fit in this picture?
Who, amongst all of these faces
Knows the path I’ve trodden?
Understands the words I’m writing.
The tears I may be hiding…
There are a few ways to answer, but the most amusing is a statement: I’m not even sure you understand this self that needs the connection. How could you hope for someone else to understand and “connect” when you may not understand the very conditions you’re craving? I personally could never find an answer as to what others could do to “stop” loneliness. It was amorphous. It was a trick of the parasite.
What would it mean for someone to understand you?
See, the thing is, one is already understood, maybe. Strange, isn’t it? That we’re already connected. I think so. That’s the funniest thing about it. And it seems like we’ll all waiting for someone else to start their trek on these psychic roads to hopefully visit our prismatic village. Wispy mementos obscuring the entry.
Instead of waiting for someone to come visit my floating isle, I dropped my possessions and embarked instead. Become the psychic wanderer instead. And you’re entirely welcome to deny this, please feel free – but I am right beside you. And I see artifacts clouding your eyes, miniature storms of static mist. Where you don’t see me right in front of you.
But that’s the beauty. It doesn’t matter. I can walk beside you, and we are here together. Whispers from the mist bounce around, and I catch bits of it. How could one possibly feel lonely when I can walk beside you whenever? To listen in on what ails you, or delights you, moves you. To witness which inclinations bubble up into your world. The plans, the plans for your day! And I get to keep you company this entire time, even if you don’t know.
It’s lovely.
Un senso di te, eppure sentire
Nei sogni in fondo a un pianto
Un senso di te, nei giorni di silenzio c’è