A month ago, she would have told you that love was a luxury. It came easily to her, a touch in the morning from her parents and a smile that reassured her of their feelings. Daily affectionate texts from her friends in group texts that she all too often ignored, to be purveyed when she felt like it. She had slipped into a relationship with her boyfriend the same way that most people slipped into their socks in the morning; casually, with ease and comfort. She fell asleep easily at night, wrapped in the knowledge that the next morning would be the same, would be full of those she knew, experiences routine, and streets she could navigate like the back of her hand.
Now she saw love as it truly was. The hunger in her chest betrayed her each day, floating through experiences with no one but herself, growing steadily distant from those she left behind. She clutched at each small letter from a friend or lover, absorbing their sentiments and draining them until she grew full with emotion, parasitic in nature, ceasing to exist in the spaces in between. She was helpless, longing to be as unwittingly selfish as before, unable to subsist on herself.
Resentment grew for those with the shining hearts, those who had it all and could not see how lucky they were. Couples who traveled together, exchanging whispers and slight touches like nothing, throwing away the currency she longed for with all her soul. Friends, family who shared experiences and laughed together, overwhelmed with themselves. She found herself staring into the distance, a dejected melancholy clouding her features, wishing somebody, anybody would ask what was wrong so that she could share herself with another being. Saying she was lonely to another person was useless. It was an attempt to burden a ship with an iceberg by throwing icy chips with bare hands.
@ellowrites #writing #story #loneliness