A poem on loneliness

I have a habit of making myself lonely.

I make myself lonely

noticing people walking in couples on the street

groups of friends sitting on park benches sharing laughter

flocks of birds travelling in the same direction.

remembering old times spent with people I couldn’t get enough of

butterflies in my stomach that are long gone

countless efforts to connect

imagining others have more friends, more love, more intimacy

that I’m unworthy of love

that this is how it’s going to be forever and ever.

I don’t want to make myself lonely.

And amidst the crowds I do.

Amidst the crowd I am thinking that it is better to be fighting but to not walk life alone.

Better to window-shop mindlessly with someone by your side.

Better to lack words for conversation because you’ve used them all up then to crave conversations that never begin.

Is it?

I don’t know, I am lonely.