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.