The worst kind of loneliness


The worst kind of loneliness is not the one who’s not there to warm up our feet during the winter. Not even the one that prevents us from killing ourselves during Christmas holidays. The one that does not measure our temperature, goes to the pharmacy and gets us pills. The one that keeps us late in the office to avoid getting into a dark, quiet, and cold home, no scent of fresh baked cookies in the oven. A moistless bathroom mirror, without funny faces.

It is not the one of the lonely passions, sometimes platonic, almost always impossible.

Not even that of the elusive hearts

Not the one that does not surprise us on our special day, doesn’t take us a picture during a trip, not even picks us from the airport. Cooks us dinner, pours us a glass of wine. It is not the first morning kiss we don’t get, or even the one we don’t give before going to sleep.

The hand that does not rest at the back of our head

Or lingers on our shoulder, on the curve of our neck.

It is also not the one that makes our whole body ache with the lack of human touch. Not even the one not resting our souls at peace, when awaken from nightmares and the undeniable truth of reality. The one not bringing us home after a medical procedure. Not soothing us when we face death and suffering. Or shuts us off from our beloved’s loss and sorrow. Not even the devastating solitude of not having an emergency contact.

The worst kind of loneliness is existential

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