A Mindful Wander of a Lonely Heart

Yesterday I wandered the streets aimlessly. My mindful pottering was helpful but unproductive. I had nowhere else to be. I wasn’t needed. I rarely am. It’s a hard feeling to carry. I don’t think I’d struggle marching twenty miles with kilos on my back. “Pile it on,” I’d say. I’d carry it. I have done for years now.

My emotional weight has no bearing but directionless steering. Sometimes I hit the wall. Other days I stall. I push start myself like I did yesterday. My only goal: to leave the house. I set myself tasks to shop for things that might make my home feel less empty, but it’s an empty endeavour, really. I could fill my home with plants and colour, but it wouldn’t mask the ghost of emptiness. You can overload your face with make-up to hide the tiredness draining the life from your skin, but your eyes still show the pain.

So, I wandered. 30 degrees of heat could not deter me. I was now determined to succeed, with my small feat of moving my feet, my body and mostly my soul. My loneliness carried me to the people. To observe and feel in passing. Flashes of atoms brushing the coldness of the hairs on my skin with the warmth I long to know.

While my feet ramble, my mind scrambles to piece together some clarity. I seek something fulfilling but settle for filling. I wander for cake but feel the emotional mistake of eating and simply pass by the window to absorb its visual delight. A bubble tea will suffice. The sweetness of strawberries and the playful joy of tapioca bubbles ease my worries and settle me in the park of life. Birds of many and leaves of green, my loneliness eases but remains, albeit with lesser pain.

I sit and read and think, but mostly I scroll at the end of my stroll. Addicted to seeking contact and interaction of kind. I hesitate to smile at passers-by but hide my heartbeats from the beauty that glides in and out of my life like passing ships in the silence of night.

Alone, I am, but I survive. I make it home, not whole, but some. I sit and watch the empty sky until a message from a friend jolts my mind like a shooting star across the baron night. With each message, she sends a hidden message that I receive. I am loved, and I love. I am not alone (even when I am).

There is hope.

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*This is a new style for me, inspired by a poem I read on LitHub by Megan Fernandes from her book 'I Do Everything I'm Told'.*

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*If you like this please help by showing your support with a like, and a share. Thank you for reading.*

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