Substitute people

I feel, undoubtedly, like a substitute person. I am interesting and close enough to the “real thing” to so many people, but not quite enough. I am not quite good enough or funny enough or smart enough or good-looking enough. I’m on the edge and they find themselves enjoying me for the time being, but it’s never for “all time”. It’s just for a while and it’s just when they need me.

I have yet to see wonder in another person’s eyes as I tell him about my theories, my beliefs, my hopes, and my dreams. It means I’ll never get that all-knowing, all-understanding hand-squeeze, or look from the person I love that says, “I know exactly what you are thinking or feeling and I want you to know that it means just as much to me as it does to you.”

Most nights, I am fine with the time I have in solitude. I would say that 90% of the time, I am perfectly content being alone. But that 10% of sudden longing is so excruciating and so heartbreaking, that the 90% doesn’t even seem to matter any more.

I am tipsy and I am not satisfied. Tonight is a 10% kind of night.