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A weird loneliness has crept in over the past week. Losing people leaves holes in your life that they used to fill. Gaps in your thoughts, openings in your schedule, words unsaid. I’ve been filling in those holes with work — math, specifically. But last weekend I had nothing to do. Nothing. Going to school full time and not a single problem to complete. I went beserk on my apartment and cleaned everything I could find, ran every errand I could run… just to not be alone with my own thoughts. Then, after I had decoupaged my coasters, I had nothing to keep me from feeling the sullenness of failed relationship creep in.
I’ve been alone with that for five days now. It always happens like this — when you start to feel the loneliness, you start to think back on past lovers.
The most vivid of them were usually the shortest lived. The most intense experiences were had when two lonely people collided. Lovers offer a respite from the plodding journey and the rote interactions of daily life. A displaced Californian programmer when I was 18. A historian having a premature midlife crisis when I was 25. Individuals as exposed in mind as in body. Hands on skin. Debates. Sweat. Exchange.
They leave no physical trace of their presence but impregnate each others’ minds with memories of temporary closeness and ideas that can only be transmitted in the nude.
Pillow talk involving anarchism and sizes of infinity. Intercourse and discourse immortally entwined.
