Loneliness is a Curse

If this was me clanging keys on a typewriter, unable to edit, unable to make a mistake – or rather, to correct a mistake without overtyping – what would I write?

Or would I sit here in silence? Sipping tea (White Jasmine Tea) Alone. Whilst listening to French music. Staring at the blank paper jutting out of the machine.

I don’t know.

Perhaps I should read some Balzac to inspire me. Or perhaps some Flaubert. Heck, even some H.G. Wells might do it. Spark some inspiration from within my soul. I feel numb.

Back in the day, I used to listen to the radio 24/7. I never turned it off. It kept my cat company whilst I was working, and made me feel safe at night. When I awoke, I always knew the news headlines before they read them to me over my breakfast black coffee kick.

A comforting memory.

A searing pain in my knee, I cannot sleep. It is close to 2am and I am in Moulay Idriss, Morocco. I glance at the henna design on my hand and then over to the other bed, and realise I am alone. I hear a magical sound. I climb up to the roof terrace and I am on top of the world. Prayer calls are all around me. Lights come on and people stir. I watch and I listen. I am hypnotised by the sight of the moon.  

I now swim away in thoughts of breathing in deeply, standing on the roof of my apartment by the sea. (This is years after the radio period). A seagull swoops overhead. I jump down to skoot through to the kitchen, hunting out a glass of wine. Sunshine.

Suddenly and with a bump I am here in Cambridge. Stunning buildings, people everywhere, a beautiful run around the common and off to work. Surrounded by people. I have never felt so alone.

 

I have yet to learn how to love my own company rather than feel melancholy in it.