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Absurd things make me happy.
When I’m feeling sad enough, all I can do is hysterically laugh.
Laughing in the face of grief sounds empowering, but it is the ultimate cowardly escape.
In truth, sometimes I fear nothing I do will really matter to me, unless love finds me at the end of it all. How depressing to hold a truth like that.
Poets are sometimes good at philosophizing away the ache. But more often than not I resent all romantic conjecture meant to dissuade me from the very real biological desire to flea from solitude.
It would feel so good, if once, someone didn’t act like I was just being dramatic. Not for sake of validation, but to just acknowledge that it is very hard to feel lonely, say “I am sorry you feel that way”, hold my hand and sit with me in it for a little while.