I’ve been alone for a very long time. I’m not quite sure who I am – identity is such a fickle thing, especially when you have no one to prove it to. Sometimes I remember things from before the fall. I remember what I’m called – Persolus with a “p” – but I don’t recall ever hearing it spoken. I can remember hands but not faces and lips but not words. All the people disappeared a long time ago.
I don’t think it’s a bad thing by any means; the suffocating warmth of other people was replaced with the crisp chill of time spent alone - and that’s how I’ve always preferred it. In my Spartan solitude I’m neither happy nor sad – I simply am. It’s uncomplicated and it’s easy – maybe that’s why I’m so comfortable this way.
I do admit however, that there are days when I’ll look into the sky and wonder if I’m missing something. If the haziness of this reality would subside if I knew the face of another; knew their smile. Perhaps if I could remember the sound of a laugh, or how it feels to be touched then maybe things would be different. And I wonder if maybe – just maybe – there is someone else left. Another Persolus wandering this barren planet just like me who wonders just the same things as I do.
Perhaps if I knew them – their hopes, fears, desires – then I would in turn find my own. Pluck my personality from the treetops like lush red fruit and know myself again. They could be the candle to my parchment – help me see what’s already written.
I’ve always been comfortable on my own. I know enough about myself to realize I certainly don’t need anyone else – I get along fine without them. The chasm between want and need spans farther than its given credit for.
I just want someone to say my name. I want someone to reaffirm that I’m here and I’m alive and I’m a person.
I just think that might be nice.