I woke this morning from a dreamless sleep. I hate dreamless sleep. It frightens me. It’s like a void in consciousness where you are somewhat aware, but you are in a black nothing. I sometimes wonder if that is what it will feel like to be dead. I’m so glad it doesn’t happen very often.
From the void, I began thinking about love, and if I will ever find it, or if I’ll just always be alone. It’s not like I’m not happy being alone. I’ve always been alone, really, from the time I was a child. I never had many friends. When I was six, my parents made me one, my little brother. He was my playmate, my tormentor, my greatest ally, and my darkest foe. We are still close and I don’t think that is something that will ever leave us, but still he has left me alone as well. He grew up, and now has a family of his own, and doens’t have the time he once did for me.
Being alone at lot gives me time to think, or maybe overthink, about the love I would like to have. I wish for someone who I can wrap my arms around at night and fall asleep happy. I wish for someone who will love me for me and all my crazyness. I have a lot of weird quirks that could drive a person insane. I’m sure my best friend will agree with me. She’s never said so, but I know I can get on her last nerve sometimes, but she seems to have accepted that part of me. I’ve never met anyone who was that tolerant and intolerant of me at the same time. Now, if I could only find that in someone who wants me as more than a friend.
The lonely part of being alone must be coming out in me more than it used to. The long for the touch of another human, I’m sure, is a common one, but not one that I’m overly fond of. It gets more and more painful as time goes on and nothing changes. I wish I knew how to make that change.