[Rynn]

I wish loneliness was graceful like the Native American flute over empty mountains through the calm forest of silent animals blanketed beneath deep winter snow. Loneliness should be beautiful like gravestone angels weeping eternal solemn stranding frozen, tears like raindrops dripping from the eyes of a statue, hunched shoulders of bent metal forever bowing under the universe’s weight. Loneliness should be a singe star in the night sky or a blade of grass in concrete. A solitary tree on a rocky ledge – brave, undefeatable. Alone, strong, outstanding, noticeable but unreached – regarded with awe. That is not loneliness.

Loneliness is invisible. It is a library table – one of many individual students seeming to work but eyes unfocused and pages unturned, books opened to the same place with hand scribbling ‘notes’ in a journal not a spiral. Loneliness is doing homework at a table meant for two days before the deadline during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Getting up early for the silence of the lounge to match the silence of your voice what does it sound like anyways? The happy words that slip your lips “how are you I’m doing great beautiful day what class are you back from” are so shallow and surprising. Did you say that?

It’s a person in a crowd, going in the same direction in silence amongst pairs and trios and groups. It’s a book and headphones and a Velcro-shut mouth and a body that has not been touched for days – two more weeks until family: Mom and Momma and sister’s hug, grandma’s hug, great grandma’s embrace, pat her leg rub her back gently touch her hand – made human again but here crowds pass with American personal space bubble – mom says in Europe people just sit down at your table when its crowded and you have a seat to spare, in Europe the space is smaller when you talk. Before leaving for France they learned to kiss on the cheek and I wished I was in the group but the cuts were fresh and the fine print said no mind problems in the past year and it was just weeks so I told mom I didn’t want to go and I lied.

Lonely is long sleeves “no I don’t want to go swimming I don’t like it don’t want to go just don’t like it, okay?” It’s thinking “can I do crafts with her?” long sleeves and clay – “can I do it will it show is it suspicious? “ It is a conversation of a party that they don’t invite you to but talk about, forgetting you are there or weren’t there or might want to go.

It’s so mundane you don’t deserve to complain because it must be everywhere – and it’s not like you don’t talk to anyone – just not many folk and never deep and the lack of intimacy is strangling you so you stuff your journal with your heart but it squeezes shut so painfully and the edges never fit so it hurts and you know you’ll never be close to anyone because no one’s ever been close like that and there’s never been a date or a best friend forever with the sleepovers and the phone calls or at least consistent emails and you’ve always been the second friend even to your first friends – maybe you were born too late. Should’ve been earlier – been quicker to jump and act and reach so you could touch a heart before it was taken I don’t know. But I’m lonely and it’s not pretty it’s unseen and it’s grey and slow suffocating heavy sluggish and uncombed. It’s without make up and no energy for that shower it’s why bother dressing up and I’ll just wear glasses today – it’s I don’t know my phone number and lots of spare stationary sending a second letter before the reply because it’s been five weeks by now.

It’s a doll held and comforted like a child, like yourself, when the mind wont do homework and the urge to call home is too much and you’ll end up crying and you can’t worry mom so you hold the doll and hug her and don’t let go all night and it's perfect and she fits in your backpack without some books and you hold her behind a locked stall doors instead of blades because the long sleeves make you lonelier and your too grey for even the metal and you hold her and hold her and clutch her to your chest as if she might somehow hold together the heart the loneliness is ripping apart but you’ve no reason to cry no ability to complain you talk to people every day – “hi how’re you I’m doing great you? Back from a test how’d it go that’s good me too lets go got to go going see you later have a good day see ya” – every day. But some how you feel alone. Alone in an ugly way. Substance is necessary for beauty.