Close

You don’t care
so I shouldn’t.
I should want the ones
who are here,
yet I seem to crave the ones
who aren’t.

Is this some sort of
psychological issue?
Because I’ve got
whatever it’s called.

I want someone to talk to me,
to crawl inside me,
to yearn to discover
how I’m made,
to take apart my particles
and wonder at their nature.

But no one here
cares about
that kind of closeness.

Does that even exist?
Where we need to be connected
beyond skin and social convention? Beyond time
and touch
and the distance
hanging between us?

I’m not sure
because only a few
have ever wanted this of me
and I’m still not sure
if it was true,
genuine,
or if it was farce
in disguise of real.

And that’s sad,
really,
because all we need
is another,
someone
to desire to know,
to understand
why our synapses fire,
why they scream or cry,
why they dream and for what.

Isn’t that why we’re here?
To find the ones
who want to know enough to care?

~Patience 

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4 thoughts on “Close

  1. I want someone to talk to me,
    to crawl inside me,
    to yearn to discover
    how I’m made,
    to take apart my particles
    and wonder at their nature.

    But no one here
    cares about
    that kind of closeness.

    This is incredible. I will leave you alone with me random comments but spend the evening reading you. Maybe getting to know a few of those particles.

    Liked by 1 person

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