Skip to main content

So . . .This is What Loneliness Feels Like

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

Do you FEEL the pain that this man is feeling?

Do you FEEL the pain that this man is feeling?

So . . .this one moment is what loneliness feels like. Like bashing my head wide-open astride a Harley 74 Sportster not counting the cost. Not thinking . . .not about what here and what I lost. What I lost! I just heard what I whispered. What an idiot--and I just talked to her Wednesday she was so happy, care-free, no stress with us--no road we didn't see.

If this break-up was a rattler, I would be sure to miss its strike. And so . . .this one moment is what loneliness feels like.

I hate that wall there where she first sat. I even hate the shaky wooden chair near the wobbly table where we'd just talk, drink some coffee, and forget our meals. No tinsel, no fanfare, no twinkle of her star. That's love alright. And life makes no deals.

Six whole weeks . . .42 great, loving days--sunrise to sunset. Love for us we didn't forget. Yet . . .now, walking here going through the motions hoping she will darken the door and if I were a degenerate gambler, I'd be living in rags now for heartache must be what I get. She's not coming. Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. My day to lay, cry and pray . . .I may try to forget her name and the stuffed poodle toy that she said, I love it a lot. So . . .this one moment staring right at me is what loneliness really feels like.

Sad, I came here just out of habit. Idiot! I'm glad that Mr. Joysterelli, my old friend, cannot read my thoughts. I am really glad of that. He'd know my life now emptied of her love and the beautiful white doves that flew over her above. The harmonies of nature's symphonies sing . . .and how I'd stare into her--seeing every inch of her pure soul. But fools are born everyday. So . . .really? This is truly how loneliness really feels.

Why didn't I notice? I didn't see the sign. I was convinced that she was happy. I know that I was. And why not? Our signs matched, our eyes latched, and there was not one eyelash that grew between she and I. Just darkness now although it's light outside. Who cares? For all she cares right now . . .I died. I died. I really died. Why can't I get past her silken hair; that hummingbird voice and that giggle, what man could resist? But somehow I did. And what a fool I was. The biggest fool you ever seen. I'm here alone at the last scene--the sky looks all blue and serene and so . . .this is really what loneliness feels like.

Mr. Joysterelli knew. He knew it from six weeks ago when we met. It was right here on a Friday night after I had finished my classwork. I wanted that Masters Degree. I worked my butt off for that. And I was tired to the bone and yet, when we glanced on that certain Friday night, I swear, lights went off! Sirens went down the street. And somewhere high in the Rockies, a Golden Eagle sang when she met her mate. Why? Why not ? I never thought six weeks ago that I'd be here at our table drinking the free coffee that Mr. Joysterelli was good enough to give me. Why can't I find a girl like he has at home. Married! Can you wrap your head around Mr. Joysterelli and his lovely wife, Anna, being married for over 55 years! Ahhh, so blessed, the ones with hearts that cannot break. Not give anyone pain. No cursing or ache.

So . . .this fading moment is pouring out to the invisible wall of time. She was an angel, alright, and was mine. Did I say that? She was mine. I hate that word, was. It's so final. So end of it all. I also hate feeling like a corpse with no name. No tag to remember me by. And what is "she" doing right now? Living. Loving and probably with . . .I'm not walking on that cobblestone anymore.

There's the door. She's not mine anymore. We are no more. No lightning will strike. No. And so . . .this deathly moment is truly what loneliness truly feels like.

Pain and Loneliness works just as hard with WOMEN.

Pain and Loneliness works just as hard with WOMEN.

© 2017 Kenneth Avery