On the Inside

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I try so hard, but it seems like I'm the only one. Maybe I am crying for nothing. Maybe it's my problem. I am a rock. I am an island. My choice? No, more like my rationalization. I respond by saying I don't need anyone. That I want to be alone. That I prefer to be alone. I suppose it's true to a certain extent. I'm picky. I don't want just anyone. There are those I want, those I miss, those I need. And funny... They are the ones who don't want, miss, or need me. Even though it's funny, I'm not laughing. Not even a wry, cynical, smirking laugh. I use the term 'funny' as turn of phrase more than anything. I'm not afraid to cry. I do it a lot. Inside mostly. Like right now. Tears are falling. No one can see them because no one is here. No one is ever here. Except me. I can want, miss, and need until I am totally exhausted. I can try and try and try again. And it never changes a thing. I am alone.

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