Alone. At Work

I'm often lonely. Lonely that there aren't more people I talk to, even though they're within my reach: well-meaning strangers, waiting for an opening; old friends who live in faraway lands, who I may never see again except in my memory, a world that does not fade.

"I've gone past that stage," we say to ourselves. Solidity is the word we seek now.




(an old photo of my handwriting, taken for Julien. I no longer smoke)

I'm lonely that there aren't more people who read my words. Having lived with this loneliness for all my life, I expect it to remain, to reign over my future. There should be that quiet acceptance by now. The resolution to work, to dig harder into the ground.