The practice of loneliness

As I wait on the uncomfortable seat
She says sir, how may I help you
I stare upon her face as if to
figure out from her if she really can

A bloody mary, I say, snapping out of it
It certainly filled me up
and kept my spirits high
but the best of it all was the brilliant
smile that came with the bloody drink

I do not want to call anyone
or talk to the lovely lady by my side
All I want is to watch the faces
around me in silence.

A smile there, some anxiety here
A red dress, a black jacket
A guy with side burns longer than his nose
Silver hair, blue shoes

I feel like the watcher that I was always afraid of
Keeping tabs, taking notes
invisible, but always there
Watching and smiling
Watching and solemn

It feels like I’m all alone
there yet not there,
trapped in a shell of my own making
thinking about people
and places, and things that connect them

Yet, I’m outside, while still inside
A paradox I cannot ignore
I am getting tired of this
this self-induced, despicable
practice of loneliness.

-by dédé(05/27/03)

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