There's a particular kind of loneliness that doesn't announce itself as it enters. It simply moves in, quietly, and rearranges the aspects of a life until he stops noticing it's there.
He was a gentle soul, never bothersome, never troublesome, never too demanding and never too visible. He liked to stay out of everyone's attention; he thrived in being on the sidelines. He had neither craved nor liked the limelight ever; someone existing with a soft footprint, a negligible weight upon anyone in his life, he had always kept himself and his wounded heart company. While he may have needed it desperately, no demanding words ever left his lips. He was an ugly duckling from the very beginning; a castaway just floating in the fringes of society, just surviving, barely living.
That's what he was always called; Content. He never demanded, never caused trouble, and never ever made a scene. He learned to shrink himself till he was rendered almost invisible, to go unseen, to never become a burden to anyone. He learned to rely only on himself, to tend to his own wounds, never believing himself strong enough to voice what he felt. He was most himself only in his own company, where his soul would quietly yearn for the kind of selfless affection he had watched others receive. But not him; Never him.
He remembered that feeling from childhood; standing in a line, waiting to be picked for the football team. He was usually the one who remained unpicked, or picked near the very end, and even then, he was content to play a minor role. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like bad luck and started feeling like the way his life was meant to unfold. The saddest part wasn't being overlooked. It was living with the hope that someday, someone might choose him; while a quiet acceptance creept in that they never would.
All his life, he'd met very few people with whom he'd truly connected. There had always been a recurring pattern: people came into his life, they shared something real, and then they moved on to brighter, better chapters of their own. It made him wonder what exactly it was about him. Why did he always feel like a rest stop on someone else's journey of life; a place to pause, gather themselves, find themselves, and then leave behind as they continued toward their beautiful destination?
Sometimes it felt as though he was trapped between worlds, suspended in a place that didn't quite belong to any time. He didn't have an outgoing personality. He didn't go out looking to meet people. He despised conversations that felt forced. He'd rather sit beside her in comfortable silence, watching the stars paint the night sky. But then he'd remember: he didn't have her. He never did. And he never would have HER.
And maybe that was the part that hurt the most; not the absence itself, but the realization of what he was missing.
Why is the universe so cruel, he wondered. Why did it bring her into his life without a moment's warning, only to show him how beautiful life could be with her in it? Why let even her shadow brush against his soul if she was never meant to stay? Why did it make their paths cross? Why did it let him discover how complete he felt beside her, why did it fill his heart with the hope of this fever dream, when it already knew it could never become reality? Why did it let him taste the quiet comfort of her soulful companionship when it knew she would never be his?
She had crashed into his miserable existence carrying a warm smile and the glow of the morning sun. She didn't just see him; she heard him, and, more importantly, understood him without having to utter a single sentence. He found himself thinking how perfectly she fit the empty spaces within him, and at the same time, how he could never bring himself to tell her. For he knew there was no world in which he deserved her, or that she deserved the cruel fate of being bound to him. She was a free spirit, drifting gently across the world, leaving joy and kindness in her wake. He, on the other hand, was a black hole of epic proportions, where every ray of light wandered only to wither. He belonged to another world, another time, while she was a timeless classic; forever beautiful, forever beyond his reach.
He used to think he was addicted to being loved. But slowly, he began to realize that what he was truly addicted to was loving. He loved taking care of her. He loved seeing her smile, but he loved her smile even more when he was the reason her smile found its way to her lips. He would have loved to hold the broken pieces of her heart, embrace every imperfection, and remind her that she never had to be flawless to be worthy of love. He would have loved to spend an eternity with her. But instead, he was left wandering through this dreary loneliness, carrying the quiet certainty that, in a million lifetimes, she'd never be his; quietly embracing the emptiness.
Left in the aftermath, the longing returned; heavier, but changed. It was an intense craving for peace, for a warm hug of comfort where he could finally put down the weight that he'd carried for so long; to ask forgiveness from anyone he'd ever bothered, and then to quietly walk off into the sunset, as though he'd never burdened anyone at all with his dreary existence.
And yet, even loneliness this deep didn't kill the wanting. If anything, it sharpened it.
The plan was to stay aloof, to somehow stay afloat, to survive, and simply breathe. The plan was never to feel again. It was never supposed to hurt like this. And yet this foolish heart of his, with its ridiculous hopes and impossible dreams, dared to flutter once more. It dared to yearn for someone once again; HER. She-who was the light beyond the horizon, while he was nothing more than a speck of dust drifting with the wind. She who was like the sun, effortlessly brightening the world, while he was a black hole of sadness where light comes to die. She, who was a near perfect composition of beauty and intellect, while he was an imperfect blend of self loathing and flaws, forever wondering how he ever convinced himself that he belonged in the same story as her.
For once, just once in his life, he wished someone would choose him, HIM. For once, he wanted to feel like he was enough, like he was worthy, like he was finally whole. For once, he hoped someone would come along, wipe away his tears, hold him close, and let him fall apart in their arms without asking him to be strong. For once, he hoped this broken heart of his dared to dream again.
If there was another life, he thought, he'd like to have one with her. The mere thought of it set every part of his soul ablaze with a warmth he'd forgotten long ago. He'd adore her. He'd truly see her, hear even her quietest sighs, and love her without condition or hesitation. He'd spend a lifetime learning the little things that made her eyes light up, chasing every reason to see her smile. He'd give everything he had to make her happy, to hold her hand through every season of life, and, if fate were kind enough, to call her his forever.
And yet, there comes a point when loneliness no longer feels like a visitor but settles comfortably into the empty crevices of a life, becoming so intertwined that it's almost mistaken for peace. He learned to hold it in without complaint, to demand nothing, to expect even less, because disappointment had long since taught him that hope is a dangerous thing to hold too close. Yet, perhaps, life was not done with him simply because it had wounded him. Perhaps the end of one chapter was not merely an ending but the slow, reluctant permission to reset and restart, not to wipe off the past or pretend the scars never existed, but to find someone who could see them without getting disgusted; someone who understood that love is not about saving a broken heart, but choosing to walk beside it. And maybe, after all that had been lost, after the silence, the pain, the grief, there still remained the faintest of possibilities that two weary hearts might one day build something gentler together, not because they had forgotten the hurt, but because they had finally found someone willing to, and worthy of, carrying it with them.
She felt like home to him, someone who felt close to his soul, who understood even the thoughts he could never find the words to utter. She was like the missing piece of his heart that had broken away long ago. She was the smile he thought he'd lost forever. All he wanted was to adore her, cherish her, and give her even a glimpse of the love and happiness she truly deserved, as long as he could. He knew she'd achieve all of it by herself one day, and he'd always be rooting for her happiness, wherever he may be and yet he yearned to give her a little taste of what her future looked like, sort of a trailer of all the good things that was due in her life.
He'd always want what was best for her. She deserved every bit of happiness this world had to offer. He'd always hope that happiness was with him. But if life chose a different path, and it wasn't his hand she ended up holding, she'd still be in his prayers. He'd carry a piece of her within him, quietly, in the corner of his heart, wishing nothing but a life filled with peace, love and joy for her.
No comments:
Post a Comment