Of the loneliest kinds of lonely

Even though we may look up at the same sky, breathe the same air and gaze at the same stars — you and I don’t see the same things or feel the same feels. Just like the furthest star our eyes can spy so far far away, here cradled between your arms — you still feel out of reach to me.

Us

I traced the palm of your hand with my fingertips, asking you to give me love, did you hear me — did you feel my love for you? Reading the book of you — as I touched your life lines and love lines from left palm to right — I never once read my name in any of your chapters.

Still, you would say…

I’ll hold you when you’re afraid, until the fear is no longer there — like smoke dissipating through the atmosphere.

Your palms were always a little moist, maybe from the remnants of escaped — lonely teardrops. Like water through your fingertips, you couldn’t hold onto us — not even for a little while.

You became the smoke dissipating as I gazed at the sky, the fear and the irony of it all — is what remained.

brushstrokes of stardust collided — painting beautiful across the night — then soon two unique stars fell to Earth — in the image of you and I

Them

They came out of a Universe already home to over seven billion of their kind — restless souls in human form — searching out familiar faces.

Crowded spaces, where everybody’s talking — but they can’t hear the words being spoken — nobody understands anything. Thus, there begins the disconnect — the tales of woe of the lonely and the company they keep.

When they remember to look up at the vast picture frame from which they came — there stirs a memory in their fingertips. They reach out, they touch the sky — they see reflections in the stardust.

Now they know, alone doesn’t have to be lonely.