For the last couple of years, I have been longing with a very curious fellow (no, this isn’t another Watson-esque story). We have developed quite a companionship I must say. We spend most of our free time together. We eat together, wash the dishes, maintain the garden together too. No, I am not smitten by him, I just find his company pleasing.
But this wasn’t always the way it was. In the beginning, reluctantly let him share the room. I wasn’t looking forward to have any sort of relationship with him. Because I had heard that he was friends with madmen and such. His company often consisted of deluded individuals, lost lovers, hopeless romantics, struggling artists, victims of failed relationships, dreamers and men blinded with passion. Naturally, I did not want to associate myself with him. During the first few weeks, I kept my distance from him. I actively avoided to even recognize his presence. I always made up excuses to not talk to him and kept myself busy.
He was a man of few words (at first). He didn’t bother me too much. His presence was barely noticeable initially, but he grew on me. Don’t get any wrong ideas, he is a decent guy. As time passed, I began to know him better. People were intimidated by him, as was I too, at the start. Some people were addicted to his presence and refused to develop any relationship with another. When I think about it, I think he is present in everybody’s life, at some time or the other. Even yours, as you are reading about him. You may remember him beside you when your heart broke for the first time. You may recall that he was there, especially when no one else was. You might have met him when you were in a foreign place, away from home, afraid. You might remember his coldness when you found out that not all of your dreams are going to come true. Or you may have met him when you were in a crowd, but alone.
But now things have changed. He is my good friend. We spend a lot of time wondering about the truths of the universe within ourselves. He talks to me about my past failures and the hurt it may have caused me. We talk to each other about tomorrow and the time beyond that. Often he speaks in my tongue. Sometimes I have difficulty in trying to differentiate my thoughts from his. My friend Loneliness advises and thinks over my actions. He has told me that each one of us are truly alone and that it isn’t such a bad thing. I wouldn’t be half the man I am now were it not for the hours spent alone with loneliness. We talk of the things that are, the things that aren’t and the things that should be. We tell each other stories, sing to each other and often dance along too. We have read many books, more blog posts and a few faces together.
I know. Curious, isn’t it? How often we become friends with the thing that scared us the most. Perhaps I am alone for too long. Maybe I have lost my mind. But,