I am selfish, I am stubborn and subsequently single. I am so set in my own ways and obsessed with my independence that I tend to push people away. Unsurprisingly I am not the only person I know for whom this is the case. At least three close friends of mine seem to be poetically painted within this same frame of mind, but why? Is it simply that we’ve grown thick skins after wounds of the past? Or is there something else, a deeper satisfaction in being alone?
There is something liberating about loneliness. I myself seem to feel accomplished for experiencing something alone, deeply content that I am able to contain things within the privacy of myself; thoughts and feelings that are mine and mine alone, things that no-one will ever know. I am in love with the ability to reflect, to take in the external and squeeze it between the hands of contemplation so that every last drop of opportunity has been used up.
I like to look at my body. Not in a creepy bout of vanity but as a point of observation. I like to feel that I am a being, to recognise that I am myself. As much as interaction and emotions can overlap between one person and another, it is comforting to me to know that the body is a set form, a frame that distinguishes the self from the external. However, this shape is almost like a sieve. We may have a little control over what we do and do not let in from the external, but inevitably there are holes and the external will get in. We are not free from the influence of emotion. I often wish I could block these holes, as what seeps through them is what makes or breaks us.