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.
