It’s not enough that I’m alone,
a veil of separation is needed.

Vast, arid separation,
a mercy of sorts.

The sky doesn’t want to touch the desert,
even if their illusion says otherwise.

How did I grow into such a desensitised state,
never craving the embrace of anyone.

How do my children, my wife and others,
still find comfort in displays of affection,
knowing well my aversion.

I don’t know where I lost it,
and searching for it is as futile as combing my fingers through sandhills.

Alas it rears every now and then,
and I struggle to remain a gracious host.


It’s either an air of chill, a wall, repulsion, dryness, or intimidation, something keeps people away.

I wonder then, if perhaps I’ve grown into this introversion.

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