I have always been alone essentially. I'm still not sure if it is by choice or if some intangible force in life has simply made the decision for me.
I've tried to talk, to reach out, to find some sliver of warmth in the spaces between myself and the women I've admired from a distance.
It always ends the same way— a half-hearted smile, a shallow interaction or inevitable self-sabotage.
There is nothing that binds me to people. I am just simply just there. A ghost drifting through conversations I was never truly a part of. I sit at the very edge of social gatherings, watching as others slip into effortless connection. The ease with which they laugh, touch, and melt into each other—it is simply foreign to me, like a language never learned.
I have told myself that I was patient. That someday it would happen. That if I kept waiting, kept existing, someone would see me.
But the years stretched on, and nothing changed.
The dating apps were no different. Most messages went unread, my profile scrolled past with the occasional compliment on my outer shell, but essentially lost in the endless sea of faces and personalities less worthy than mine, yet still chosen over me. Even when I did get a reply, the conversation fizzled out, dissolving into the ether like everything else in his life.
I wonder, sometimes, if there is something fundamentally broken inside me. Something women could sense, an invisible warning sign flashing over my head: Stay the fuck away from me.
And so I essentially just stopped trying.
Not all at once. It happened in pieces—a few unanswered texts, another Friday night alone, a moment of realization in the mirror that I didn’t even recognize my own being anymore. The weight of it all has settled into my bones, making it harder and harder to move and frankly, to care.
One evening, as I walked home from work, I saw a couple on the other side of the street. She leaned into him, laughing at something he said. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she looked at him like he was the only person in the world, with utter adoration and love.
When I see this I have to look away.
I don't even feel sad anymore. Not even jealous. Just pure rage and powerlessness.
I spend most of my days at home, not even trying to interact with anyone romantically, not even online. Just laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the same old songs over and over again.
No one who texts. No one who calls.
And I have lost every single glimmer of hope that, someday, it will change.
I've tried to talk, to reach out, to find some sliver of warmth in the spaces between myself and the women I've admired from a distance.
It always ends the same way— a half-hearted smile, a shallow interaction or inevitable self-sabotage.
There is nothing that binds me to people. I am just simply just there. A ghost drifting through conversations I was never truly a part of. I sit at the very edge of social gatherings, watching as others slip into effortless connection. The ease with which they laugh, touch, and melt into each other—it is simply foreign to me, like a language never learned.
I have told myself that I was patient. That someday it would happen. That if I kept waiting, kept existing, someone would see me.
But the years stretched on, and nothing changed.
The dating apps were no different. Most messages went unread, my profile scrolled past with the occasional compliment on my outer shell, but essentially lost in the endless sea of faces and personalities less worthy than mine, yet still chosen over me. Even when I did get a reply, the conversation fizzled out, dissolving into the ether like everything else in his life.
I wonder, sometimes, if there is something fundamentally broken inside me. Something women could sense, an invisible warning sign flashing over my head: Stay the fuck away from me.
And so I essentially just stopped trying.
Not all at once. It happened in pieces—a few unanswered texts, another Friday night alone, a moment of realization in the mirror that I didn’t even recognize my own being anymore. The weight of it all has settled into my bones, making it harder and harder to move and frankly, to care.
One evening, as I walked home from work, I saw a couple on the other side of the street. She leaned into him, laughing at something he said. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she looked at him like he was the only person in the world, with utter adoration and love.
When I see this I have to look away.
I don't even feel sad anymore. Not even jealous. Just pure rage and powerlessness.
I spend most of my days at home, not even trying to interact with anyone romantically, not even online. Just laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the same old songs over and over again.
No one who texts. No one who calls.
And I have lost every single glimmer of hope that, someday, it will change.
