What it means to be alone.
I lie on my bed staring blankly at the blank slate of my phone, its screen flashing a bright glare my way as if telling me to buzz off already.
Seconds, minutes, hell, even hours pass as I do my usual cycle: I open my messages, I close it. I open my social apps, I close it. I wait for a reply, and I stop it.
Sometimes I feel like I ask for too much: I ask for people to spend their precious time to give this poor little girl some attention — even a tiny confirmation that I still matter to them by acknowledging my existence with a simple tap on the screen.
I wonder how I ended up this way, after all I used to be the one who pushed people away and fought so hard for my own alone time. Is it the feeling of being paid attention to, cared for, or loved the reason I yearn to wait for someone or anyone to leave me a message.
And is that why I still wait for you?
I enjoyed our dumb rants, always bouncing off each other’s words with an even clever and mischievous reply. I loved that you paid attention to the little things about me like how I look when I’m sad or troubled. I loved merely being near you.
But I still remember the days when you made me felt alone too. Suddenly not understanding my tiny quips in our conversations, dismissively passing by me in the classroom, hell, not even sparing me the grace of your time to leave me on read. It felt like, we lived in two separate worlds those days.
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It hurts having to pretend to be a stranger to you.
So why now, when I’m walking so lonely at the dead of night listening to music that makes me feel like me, that I imagine you smiling back at me like I never was a stranger to you during those days? Why do I still cling onto the tiny admiration I held for you during those days? And why do I make it a habit to pretend all these happy scenarios, talking to you just before those days?
You gave me so many small adoring moments in my life that it felt like I actually mattered to you a lot more than I thought. But I guess I was just entertaining my own fantasies and delusions. In the end, I was just another person you didn’t mind to shower your love to just to draw it back and give it to another person.
I don’t blame you, after all I understand the most how unlovable and difficult I am. But I still do wonder, why is it that you admired me so?
Whenever I snap back to reality away from my foolish ideas of ever seeing and talking to you again, I realize how much I starve to be seen; To be understood on a deeper level.
Much more than just looks, much more than what I wear, much more than just my knowledge, and much more than what I could do.
I wonder if someone out there will truly see me for who I am: Someone looking for another to shower me once more with their unconditional adoration. Someone who would put an effort to make me not feel lonely when I need them the most.
But I guess for now, I should settle for what it means to be alone.
Written by KH on April 17, 2026 (22:12)
