You.

It all begins and ends with you–and your loneliness.

There is a loneliness that is incurable,

as terminal as life itself.

It’s the one that tracks all the barriers,

feels them with the tips of the mind’s fingers,

palpable as the stone, plaster and wood masonry wall.

It looks like that small child peeking over that garden wall,

only his brown, mop head visible,

panic in his eyes.

It’s the underside of your smile and the fake interest in your eyes,

gleaming with all you can muster.

It’s the voices that you respond to though no one else hears them.

It’s that mad conversation you have alone with yourself,

in the darkest part of the night.

It’s the realization

that the one sleeping next to you for the last 35 years

is a total stranger.

It’s the one incident that threw you over the edge

of shifted perspective,

never to return again,

like when you discover your life-long mate,

the father of your children,

never did have any craving desire for you–

ever.

And you never would have thought that.

That’s the enfolding isolation

that can never be breached, penetrated or dissolved.

That’s loneliness.

That’s your loneliness.

And inside of it,

that’s where you begin and end.