There's this beautiful poem about being lonely:
by Adrienne Rich
You're wondering if I'm lonely:
OK then, yes, I'm lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean.
You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely
If I'm lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawns' first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep
If I'm lonely
it's with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it's neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning
For some reason it is speaking to me tonight and I feel like that little rowboat. I am that woman driving across the country without stopping, mile after mile. I am in a house wrapped in sleep at first light.
I'm not necessarily sad, just sort of lonely. I've reached a point in my life where it's not easy to make friends anymore, and the ones I have, I've grown far away from. It's hard to find something in common with married women, when I'm single. It's hard to find something in common with stay-at-home moms, I work full time. It's hard to find something in common with a lot of people around me right now for some reason and I think it's wearing on me.
Now I'm sounding quite morose. Another blog to the universe, the cyber-space void where it's so vast that it makes it easy for your words to never be heard. But maybe I like it that way. No one to see my loneliness. I can hide behind this cheery profile picture, looking sassy, and wishing I felt that way all the time.