Unbuilt for Aloneness

I am exhausted

from pretending I am self-sufficient.

Like this body,

this brain,

this whole loud interior,

does not lean.

I kept saying,

“I can do it alone”.

Until it sounded like a rule,

instead of a choice.

There is a friend.

And then, there is my friend.

And anyone who says that’s the same thing

has never needed one person

to keep the day from collapsing.

A friend is noise.

My friend is oxygen.

I do not want love.

I am not hiding from romance.

I am not secretly yearning.

Stop narrating me.

I hate men…

when they want me.

I hate women…

when it turns romantic.

Because suddenly,

I am no longer seen.

Only desired.

And desire is loud.

It drowns me out.

I am not lying when I say:

I don’t want love.

Or maybe I am…

but not in the way people think.

I just know this:

I do not want love.

I want presence.

I want someone

who can sit beside my thoughts

without trying to touch them.

Someone whose existence says:

“I see you”.

Without asking for more.

My one friend

could ruin my worst day

by simply existing near me.

And that scared me.

Because it meant that

I was not built to be alone.

And now…

She’s quiet.

And the silence is not peaceful.

It is accusatory.

It mocks:

“See? You needed someone after all.”

I cannot explain this to anyone.

Because they will translate it

into something simpler.

Something wrong.

They will say:

“You’re lonely”.

Or “You’re in love”.

Or “You’re confused”.

No.

I am precise.

And my language keeps failing me.

It is just this:

I am too complex

for my own vocabulary.

And the one person

who understood me

without translation

is… slipping away.

So, tell me…

What do I do,

when the one person

who made the world tolerable

starts acting like I am optional?