a lone.

I am not sure 

if I want 

to speak 

to anyone

ever 

again.

I seem to mess it up.

Continually.

I seem to betray whilst I'm lecturing about integrity and loyalty.

Honor.

These things nobody talks about.

To whom do I owe my loyalty?

To whom can I give my loyalty?

Who will accept it?

Does anyone even want it?

I get so mixed up.

I've gotten so mixed up.

I just want to do the right thing.

Always I am trying so hard to do the right thing.

To not hurt someone that I think is good.

To not hurt anyone.

To protect myself from those whose intentions are sinister.

And to warn the ones who don't know it.

To do good in secret, so nobody knows it was me.

I want to be very good to those that I care about and love.

I find that really, there are so few.

And that they hurt me.

And then I bail.

Unless their last name is the same as mine.

Then I stay and put up with anything.

Things I would never take from anyone else.

I feel alone.

I am intelligent and logical enough to know that I am not. I know that I am not. But I feel it. And maybe this is what I need. But why? Why should I need this? Why have I earned this? 

I don't want it anymore.

I want communion.

I want fellowship.

I want warmth.

I want accountability.

I want to be nurtured.

I want to feel safe.

I want it to be real.

I want to give myself.

I don't want to explain anything. I don't want to have to.

I'm holding back and waiting until it feels right.

Until anything feels right.

Is it normal to want to escape everything?

To disappear and reappear somewhere else?

Someone else.

I'm a stranger.

I've wandered out of the store in someone else's clothes.

Holding someone else's coffee cup.

I don't recognize my vehicle, and my pillowcase smells foreign.

The rest of me must be dwelling happily

somewhere else.

While I inhabit this life here.

Only alone feels right.

Only separation and isolation.

Keeping everything to myself.

As if there's really so much to keep.

I'm small, insignificant.

Losing myself in too many hours of useless work.

Rushing from place to place.

Barely eating.

My coffee grows cold before I can drink it.

Twice a day, and I throw it out.

Too many questions to be answered.

Phone calls to be made.

Pages to be read.

Responsibilities I cannot fulfill.

Though I do nothing but attempt to.

And through this, 

I don't return your phone calls.

I tell you I can't see you anymore.

I've grown irritated with your turn of phrase.

Only alone seems to come naturally.

And yet it feels so terribly wrong.

Goodbye, I've left you for nothing else.