The Cost of Knowing

My loneliness is not for lack of friends, companionship, flirtation or romance. Nor even missing intimacy.

No.

It's not being understood that's killing me.

I cry by myself, and wonder if this is the cost of knowing myself.

Even though I know others who feel the same, we don't enmesh in that way.

Healthy, but sad.

It used to be easier. Raised voices are more familiar than deep, sorrowful understanding. That's what I was taught.

It worked for a while. Then I got sick. I had to grow or die.

You can't put that genie back. Once you know, you know.

Still, maybe I'll find him. The one who knows himself and gets me, too.

I'm older now.

I wish I knew all this sooner.

That's why I'm telling you.