When Will This Loneliness End?

It is late at night, late enough to be early. I sit alone in my easy chair, stormed by stillness, deafened by quiet and flooded with emptiness. The inexorable march of time is measured by a clock ticking off seconds and the beat of my run-down heart.

I dwell upon climbing into bed alone as I have for untold thousands of nights, the thought of human intimacy so utterly desirable and equally unattainable that I feel like a homeless woman dreaming of a place of her own as she settles into a cardboard box under an off ramp. I can only imagine a serious romantic relationship as a housewife daydreams about the life of a movie star.

Love seems so foreign, so farfetched, so forbidden to me and I am left to acknowledge the sting of imminent tears, the wrench of my heart, the dull pain of loneliness and do my best to let it merely hang in the air instead of fighting it.

The clock ticks, marking each dreary second. Each breath, each beat of my heart brings me closer to wherever it is I’m going, though only time itself can tell where my journey will end, or when, or what I shall experience along the way, or with whom — if anyone.

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