The funny thing about loneliness is how very little it has to do with actually being alone.
The saddest, truest kind of loneliness seeps in when you least expect it. It arrives silently: while lying in the arms of your lover, measuring the frequency of their hand as it runs back and forth, up and down, caressing the dimple of your thigh. It’s noticing the way their touch occasionally slows, falters – the way they’ve grown so easily distracted by the static, violent movements of their video game, the one you bought them for their birthday.
It’s remembering the way your body once commanded their pulse to quicken, their heart to race. It’s how your touch once brought light to their eyes and tiny, dancing goose-bumps to the skin of their neck. Loneliness is is the pull-back to your lean-in, the hug to your kiss, the question to your…
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