Monday, February 4, 2013

It remembers me.

I hate lying alone here with these bad feelings. About missing kissing when it actually meant something. Or how no one wants to hug me because hugs always mean something more or even if they don't mean something more they're not meaningful. The feeling you get where you've Lost everyone you love to death, and you didn't cherish them how you should have. Their hugs and their kisses are the ones you miss the most. You long to hug people you know but know when the time comes it's not as satisfying as you imagined because they don't want the hug like you do, or need it like you do. And they squeeze too tight or let go too soon or hardly hug you at all. Immediately you feel ashamed, or embarrassed, but mostly you just feel empty. But always you go home and as you lie there, just wishing, for once, for someone to be nice to you, you imagine hugging them again. And even though you know it will be disappointing you still imagine it because the thought of everything being okay for just one second, just one whole second, and the thought that you could bring that second to yourself just by hugging another person, is too good to resist. So you imagine, you expect, you try, and ultimately, are let down by your own longing.

And the only pair of hands left to hug are that of your own loneliness and despair, to which now, the heart has grown so accustomed, it wouldn't recognize anything else as satisfactorily from there on out.

The one thing that never disappoints.


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