smothered hope

There are no havens anymore. Spaces are shared, thoughts are shared, iPods never filled properly, notebooks too heavy, computers too cumbersome, friends too busy or far or indisposed. There are cities, and there are suburbs. There are rural areas. In all of these places, in all of these institutions, there is lonliness.

We are all rocks with soft, chewy centres. We slosh around inside, letting elements chip at up until a hole big enough for the insides to drip from is worn. And even then, these holes are covered, patched, re-broken, rebuilt.

I can hear the footsteps from the stairwell in the vibrations running up to my feet. Resting on the table, the echoes of someone else's life run through the concrete to the metal legs and resonate in the laquered wood where I feel it. I can hear the neighbour's television, close enough to make out dialogue. Does he hear me type this? I don't know; I don't care to be either philisophical or self-referential right now.

Lonliness is a social disease.

back | forth

listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)

previously on Smothered Hope:

unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08