All of Us Strangers (2023 film): A+
as they get to know each other, I wonder what it would be like to be so lonely that finding a kindred soul would light everything up ... I'm sort of in the middle between lonely and coupled up ... I have several men who come and go, we have long-term variable-distance relationships ...
To be alone yet suddenly find meaning... it's a powerful trope. And I think it's natural to oscillate between loneliness and companionship. We need both aspects of life to truly thrive.
It reminds me of Nietzsche's concept of eternal recurrence, the idea that life is a fleeting moment amidst the infinite expanse of time. In such a vast universe, finding genuine connection is miraculous.
I think writers are cursed to live in multiple worlds. Our imaginations take us to places of great beauty, but our bodies remain anchored to the earth, mired in the same mundane problems as everyone else.
-----
Between
Loneliness,
horizon stretching beyond sight,
air echoes with thoughts
too fragile to hold in a crowd.
Companionship,
lighthouse cutting through mist,
its glow trembling but sure,
for the wandering soul.
In the middle,
tide rises, falls,
pushing inward, pulling outward,
need v. retreat.
A kindred spirit
in this vast, spinning void,
is a miracle.
I write to fill the spaces between breaths,
to escape and to anchor,
to dream and to belong.
Mine is the gift of living in many worlds,
but my feet remain on earth,
worn by gravel,
warmed by sun.
Where loneliness and connection pull apart,
I see myself
through time.
To be alone yet suddenly find meaning... it's a powerful trope. And I think it's natural to oscillate between loneliness and companionship. We need both aspects of life to truly thrive.
It reminds me of Nietzsche's concept of eternal recurrence, the idea that life is a fleeting moment amidst the infinite expanse of time. In such a vast universe, finding genuine connection is miraculous.
I think writers are cursed to live in multiple worlds. Our imaginations take us to places of great beauty, but our bodies remain anchored to the earth, mired in the same mundane problems as everyone else.
-----
Between
Loneliness,
horizon stretching beyond sight,
air echoes with thoughts
too fragile to hold in a crowd.
Companionship,
lighthouse cutting through mist,
its glow trembling but sure,
for the wandering soul.
In the middle,
tide rises, falls,
pushing inward, pulling outward,
need v. retreat.
A kindred spirit
in this vast, spinning void,
is a miracle.
I write to fill the spaces between breaths,
to escape and to anchor,
to dream and to belong.
Mine is the gift of living in many worlds,
but my feet remain on earth,
worn by gravel,
warmed by sun.
Where loneliness and connection pull apart,
I see myself
through time.