Not Being Alone Is A Beautiful Feeling

Darkness threads through the spaces between my fingers in cruel mimicry of another human hand; its weight pressing against me, taunting me with its presence, for it is nothing more than that of absence.

Deep seeded familiarity with the moon bathed hours has never been weighty enough to balance the equally deep-seeded yearning for the simple pleasure of silent, comforting, and safe companionship.

I breathe in the air blowing so gently through a world that feels so forlorn and abandoned.

My heartbeat and breaths all sound too loud, as if I, such an overall insignificant specimen in these muted hours, am occupying too large of a space; too dense and volatile of an existence to be permitted a moment of contented peace.

Far more likely is that I, so eager to capture metaphors and twist them around and around until I lose interest, simply find loneliness sometimes too heavy a burden to bear. It is that I, not unlike every other person who has and who will ever walk this earth, look to the million stars twinkling overhead and then down at my own shaking hands, and wish, for countless agonizing moments, that someone were there to hold them.

Familiarity extends into what should be unfamiliar, but somehow isn’t, for the absence is held aside by a presence that embodies everything that it is not; everything that it is forever incapable of being.

And yet, despite the bewildering mystery as to how such an intricate construct of vibrant serenity and vast tranquility is capable of manifesting itself in something so tangible, the contentment that it settles around me feels like the very essence of what I have been waiting for during every night spent solely in the company of the darkness.

The contentment that you bring is as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.

It is unfamiliar in its existence, but not in its presence, as you are.

I look toward the thousand stars that I know are out there, and down to my own shaking hands, and know that there is someone to hold them, and I am filled with such inexplicable solace that I forget, for a moment, to draw breath.

I look to the stars and then down to my own hands and it feels as if we are the only two people that live and breathe on this planet, for the silence is so impenetrable, but the thought is comforting in its heaviness.

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