I thought, the other sad thing about being apart from people that we love, is to live side by side with them. To the point where we don't recognize ourselves anymore, where we share silence that hard it gets kinda awkward, where we don't even know how far we are from each other: geographically close, but so distant at the same time. To the point where our lives collided and gets nowhere but being monotonous. That's where it all ends, somehow.
Monotonous kills, and life gets bored. You're living in a state of 'please, leave me alone.' versus the 'don't leave me, I'm begging you,' constant battle. You shut down people, but your soul screams for help. Help me, it would say. Help me to discover myself. I'm that hard, you know. I don't even know if it's normal for a human being to feel that way. That's why I loved people who embrace the existence of absent. Who know how to give me some quiet space to myself, even if I'm begging not to. But then it turned into some self-discovery moment: of what I'm capable of, of what I can't live without, of what I've missed throughout life.
You might think it's masochistic. But I found my joy in times of sorrow. I get excited in times of longing. That way, I appreciate solitude. That way, when I look at them whom I missed in a long wait, it's a blissful serendipity.
Then I wonder if this was a curse or a blessing, to feel everything and nothing so very deeply.
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