on loneliness

in the morning, i would wake up,
and it would already be there.
not loud, not heavy—
just there.

i would get ready for school,
tie my hair,
pack my bag,
and stand in front of the mirror,
and i would see it beside me,
standing there
like it belonged.

on the way to school,
walking past the same roads,
the same people,
it walked with me.

it didn’t say anything.
it didn’t need to.

by the time i reached school,
it had already settled in.

in classrooms full of voices,
in corridors full of noise,
in between laughter that wasn’t mine,
it stayed.

“and in school, i felt so lonely.
my loneliness would walk home with me.
my loneliness held my hand as i crossed streets.”

and it wouldn’t leave.

even when people called my name,
even when they sat next to me,
even when i smiled back,
it stayed.

even when there was a boy who loved me,
who held my hand gently,
like i was something to be cared for,
i knew i didn’t feel the same way
because something in me was already full,
full of it.

after school, walking back home,
it walked beside me again.

the sun was too hot,
the road too hot,
my hands sticky with melting ice cream,
laughter slipping out too easily—

and still,
it stayed.

sometimes i would sit in the park,
on a bench that wasn’t mine,
watching people pass
like they were a part of something i wasn’t in,

and it would sit next to me.

close.
too close.

at home,
with my family around me,
voices i had known my whole life,
people who said they knew me,
it stayed.

in my room,
in the quiet,
in the dark,
it stayed.

my loneliness was a different kind.

it held my hand too tight,
so tight
it left a scar—
big, red, and still there.

and even when i didn’t feel it as much,
even when the grip loosened,
the mark stayed

because it was never passing,
it was never just for a while.

it was there to stay.

even in a crowd,
even when i was surrounded
by people who knew my face,
it stayed.

even when i was laughing,
even when i was not alone,
it stayed.

even now,
it stays.

note: the italicized lines in quotation marks are from Ode to the First White Girl I Ever Loved by José Olivares