Lonely

Imageby Andrew M. Harbach14 Jul 2014

There is something quite pleasurable about being alone. Some of the most out of body experiences manifest only when you have fallen out of company. When it comes down to it, at the intrinsic nature of each unitary action, each of humanity’s grand performances relate to the individuality complex that has been programmed deep within our initial infant minds. Even before intercommunication can begin, a thought must manifest itself within whichever form of language we choose to express ourselves in. It is for that reason that those most uncomfortable with themselves find it most difficult to perform within a larger piece of people. Because of all of this, and specifically for my very own rationality, I am attempting to justify sitting upon this bed rather than joining the living. I am the campaigner of telling others how to do that which I have not yet even learned myself. But it gives me the semblance of sanity and normality that has eluded me for so long. Life works in ways which allow you to at last and least grasp the concept of who you are, only to rip away any sense of permanence and leave you thirsting for that which was, rather than that which is to come. When I look at my outstretched hand, I see but an appendage that has always been there. When I stare more closely; however, I see a surface that delves further beyond, even though only a few nanometers more. Each crack in the skin forms patterns luring me into a trance of self-consideration. Have these always been here? A golden crease works its way mindlessly until it crashes into a cross-hatch only to curve an almost 90degree bank and bounce off of the remaining notches. The pulchritudinous pattern only intrigues me more when I move my fingers one by one, and after following a single ridge of my fingerprint around and around, I turn to see the clock of a 3 hour difference from when I first started. I feel so alone yet things are actually quite opposite, because I sit here with breathing creases: meditative glancing and introspective freedom. Time to think, and a mind to think it with. I breed thoughts and then allow them to revolve, procreate, and repopulate. Dreamingly dumbfounded, despite desperate attempts of deductive doctrine, holding a limb and commanding a movement proves to be astounding. It is as if you write the deviation of universal equilibrium. You take a motionless body and make it a moving thing. The choice of making such motion productive or destructive does not withdraw the pure miracle that will and reason allows a joint to swing into occupational stance of another boundary.