It’s finally starting to settle in. That deep-seated, visceral loneliness I’ve been waiting about forty days for. Ring the bells and bring out the red carpet, for it’s finally here.
I used to spend the majority of my week with one of my favorite people in the world. Adventuring, playing, sleeping side by side. Eating, fighting, working, driving. Now I spend most of my evenings alone. Now I only ever feel the touch of a human being in fleeting moments—an accidental collision, a clumsy handoff, a short and stiff goodbye hug. Now I’m banging down the doors of my friends’ houses every night hoping that someone is free.
That’s one of the drawbacks of having such a small circle. You end up putting too much on one person and the cavern left in their absence is so hard to fill. These days, I can’t help but feel like I no longer have anyone in my life who really knows me. Anyone I’m truly comfortable with, anyone I can be completely myself around. It’s not always about the company; sometimes it’s about being seen. But when I look in the mirror now, there’s nothing there looking back.
Sports have kept me busy. Plenty of games every day and plenty of places to gather. But the roar of the crowd doesn’t penetrate. The heat of their bodies doesn’t warm my skin. It makes no difference if I’m there or not to anyone in that building but me.
I want to share things with other people, I want to connect. I want to play, I want to joke around, I want to try new things. I want to spend boring nights on the couch together and wait in long, unmoving queues and share a happy dance when the takeout arrives at the door…
The night is still young. Another game in another bar on another TV in a crowd of perfect strangers awaits me. But I think I’ll stay in tonight. If I’m going to be alone today, I’d rather be alone with me. And I know that lonely or not, we can still have ourselves a mighty fine time.