The Venom Of Isolation

I’m scared of losing people. The fear was always there, I guess.

It’s actually quite ironic when in fact, I like to be alone.

I find beauty in the solace of 2am’s and afternoon walks by myself. I find joy in always having space, may it be in between my fingers or in my queen sized bed. I find comfort in having my thoughts all to myself from early morning until late at night.

Alone translates into freedom instead of loneliness– most of the time.

Some nights, the loneliness just sinks in. Some days, I just can’t deny the sadness of it all. The darkness of being alone hits even in the brightest summer days, and it hits you the hardest when you have nothing but a million minutes in your hands. The sands of time bury you alive, and the ticking of the clock will reverberate through your entire being, haunting you even in your sleep. Yes, those are the days when you’re sprawled across your bed, unmoved for hours. Those are the days when you’re aimlessly walking, heading towards the unknown. Those are the days of sitting in your patio, waiting for something or someone to come along, knowing fully well that no one ever does.

Those days are undeniably agonizing because those days are the days you realize that you don’t like being alone.

But, being alone just grows on you. It is like poison in your veins, spreading through every inch without you even noticing. Soon, you’d be used to it, and you’d fool yourself into thinking that the beauty of always being alone outweighs the pain of it.

In my case, the venom of isolation roots from my fear of losing others. Most of the time, I push people away because I’m scared of losing them in the end. No one really stays after all, right? I often build my walls high enough to hide my darkest corners but low enough to show my light. I build these walls because my dark corners are filled with my demons– demons that don’t play well with others.

In a way, I chose to be alone.

I allowed the venom to take over, and eventually…

It poisoned me.

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About mkaterpillar

In the realm of perhaps, chasing the limit of possibility. La Douleur Exquise

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