My Loneliness, Her Loneliness

She is so lonely. I am so lonely. Look at us, sitting in loneliness, next to each other. I run from it, hide from it. My loneliness, her loneliness. But they catch up and find me, in meaningless banter, between the lines, in silence. She cannot comfort me and she is inconsolable. What do you do when someone doesn’t love you the way you need them to? We both ask ourselves the same question; such a painful parallel.
I escaped the man, she sits in chains. Coffee, cigarettes, a heartached insomnia and wandering through tasteless dreams, – our hearts are filled with a yearn for closeness, unable to give or get. What pain she must be in.
She is so lonely, and I am so lonely. What do we have to offer but quiet escapism? Look at us, sitting in loneliness, next to each other. I can’t love her the way she needs, either. I run from it; I hide from it, – my own loneliness is enough to carry.

“Mama, who bore me;
Mama, who gave me
No way to handle things;
Who made me so sad.
Mama, the weeping;
Mama the angels
Don’t sleep in heaven or Bethlehem.”
Spring Awakening

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