“Sometimes I feel like I’m completely alone in the world; other times I know it’s like that,” says Charles Bukowski. I have never been able to explain this feeling, but the feeling of being alone and that there is no other option, anchors me in an eternal loneliness, sighing for something that I will never get.
Loneliness doesn’t envy me, it comforts me. I am used to listening to the subtle music of stillness, of the already known absence of noise. I hear my breathing, alone her and the storm of my mind in a space of silence.
There are times when I feel more lonely than ever. A deep emptiness that seems to fill my chest. A lump in my throat makes me swallow saliva to try to relieve the drowning, but it never gives up completely. I fall into a sea of trouble, impossible to unlock, and it’s as if I were in a cage that I will never be able to get out of.
On other occasions, when the sun sways with the breeze, each of my cells vibrates with a deep tranquility that intoxicates me, even in my solitude. One part of me longs for the sound of others and wants to share those moments, while the other feels comfortable as it is.
When the night surrounds me, I open my eyes and hope to find freedom. I leave everything behind and immerse myself in an abyss of memories. Moments of joy, of sadness, of sorrow, of love. These things allow me to remember that I am not alone. There will always be people I love and who remind me that I am not alone.
All my memories are there to remind me that there are people by my side. Sometimes I feel like I don’t feel like continuing to sleep to try to interpret the changes in the world, made by me, so that I don’t feel alone.
And although over the years the feeling of loneliness has not completely disappeared, I know that there are times when I follow an adventurous path. A journey to the end of my own existence. In my best moments, I know that loneliness has made me strong and has allowed me to discover terrible joys that only those who feel really alone share.
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