What is the evolutionary benefit
of loneliness?
How does a
Darwinian thinker rationalize the
disconnect between intro- and
extroversion?
Our world is generated by
our need to feel as though
we are together.
Not alone.
Not solitary.
Not separate.
Not disparate.
Still alive.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still seeking the heartbeat as it
thrums through our souls
and echoes across a pillow into
the eyes of a dispassionate and
apathetic lover.
“maybe love is just muscle memory
a body next to a body
you just react how you learned it the first time.”
An empty bed full of two people waiting
to believe, maybe love is just that.
An empty bed next to an open window as curtains
flutter and we plummet past the 23rd floor
together.
Hand in hand we fall through the surface and
become a tuxedo with tears and bells standing
in front of strangers without faces reciting
lines from ancient vows written without words
in the air that floats
between us.
And it goes Dearly beloved.
Barely beloved.
Barely here.
Why do we pretend?
sorry
And it goes, Dearly beloved,
We have gathered as a people around
the need to find another with which to
fall tumbling through a woven tapestry
of inaccuracies, ineptitude, an incision to
free us from our search.
And it goes, I, the seeker,
take you, my apathetic, beautiful witness--
to have security in knowing I am now tied
to another. Not unique, but made
to hold until our until our bodies run out of time
and our sense of humanity waves to wither
to dust to nothing to death to dust.
And it stops--we transcend ourselves
into melting wax and darkness while stars poke holes
in our blanket of lies when we lay for our
final sleep. We rarely go together, and when
there’s time, we search again.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
What is the evolutionary benefit
of loneliness?
How does a
Darwinian thinker rationalize the
disconnect between intro- and
extroversion?
Our world is generated by
our need to feel as though
we are together.
Not alone.
Not solitary.
Not separate.
Not disparate.
Still alive.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still seeking the heartbeat as it
thrums through our souls
and echoes across a pillow into
the eyes of a dispassionate and
apathetic lover.
“maybe love is just muscle memory
a body next to a body
you just react how you learned it the first time.”
An empty bed full of two people waiting
to believe, maybe love is just that.
An empty bed next to an open window as curtains
flutter and we plummet past the 23rd floor
together.
Hand in hand we fall through the surface and
become a tuxedo with tears and bells standing
in front of strangers without faces reciting
lines from ancient vows written without words
in the air that floats
between us.
And it goes Dearly beloved.
Barely beloved.
Barely here.
Why do we pretend?
sorry
And it goes, Dearly beloved,
We have gathered as a people around
the need to find another with which to
fall tumbling through a woven tapestry
of inaccuracies, ineptitude, an incision to
free us from our search.
And it goes, I, the seeker,
take you, my apathetic, beautiful witness--
to have security in knowing I am now tied
to another. Not unique, but made
to hold until our until our bodies run out of time
and our sense of humanity waves to wither
to dust to nothing to death to dust.
And it stops--we transcend ourselves
into melting wax and darkness while stars poke holes
in our blanket of lies when we lay for our
final sleep. We rarely go together, and when
there’s time, we search again.
