Title.

Night. My favorite time of day. It is a time where I can be alone, with nothing but my thoughts. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some sort of loner, in fact, I enjoy being with a crowd. Note the usage of “with” and not “a part of”. Most days, I long to be on the sidelines, a mere spectator as people talk, debate, and bond. I wish I could just be the silent companion, giving input only when input is needed. 

Most people know me as what you would call a chatterbox. I resent that title. I speak a lot only to make up for the lack of voices surrounding me. In an age where most of my acquaintances, yes, acquaintances not friends, where most of my acquaintances seem to be preoccupied with other people or maybe other things on their respective plates, I feel lonely. Not lonely, but alone. 

This might seem a little needy and attention-seeking, but if that’s the way it has to be, so be it. I will not pull any punches. I am a needy person. I feel starved of attention, thus I crave it. My behavior  my antics, my writing. All of them a method with which I attempt to attract attention. That is not to say that I do not have passion for these things, it is just that there is an ulterior motive. 

I have come to notice, in recent times, that I seem to be the one initiating conversation with people. Oh, people do come to me, but only when they need something, be it a helper, a guide, or a partner in a game. Not once, has anyone ever come to me for trivial matters. People who know me will realize that I do come to them for trivial matters, and they most likely think that I am merely a pest, an irritating specimen, as my mother would say. I too, realize that. 

But maybe, just maybe, I am looking for someone like that. Someone who feels the same way. A kindred spirit. Someone to call “friend”. Friends. The concept seems alien to me. I have read of these people, I have made my own observations from the sidelines, yet I cannot seem to find anyone who meets my criteria. Maybe I am aiming too high. Maybe I am being unrealistic. I probably am, stuck in a world of romanticism as I am. 

At this point, I have already written 404 words, and have come to a complete halt, which some may find ironic. But now is not a time for joking. In fact, there never was a time for joking, at least not for me. I should go now. I should do something productive. Yet, my fingers continue to tap away at the keys, putting words on an electronic page. It seems that the only place in which I have friends is the internet. Or do I? After all, who wants a needy, annoying person as a friend? In fact, who needs friends? What have they ever done for you? Honestly, why bother. Why bother at all.