I wonder if the people I loved who no longer are in my life felt that love and the sincerity or did they throw out the baby with the bathwater (i.e. me)? I wonder if the random acts of love to strangers has set root in anyone? I wonder if any of those strangers still think about me from time to time?
I always feel invisible under the baggage of humanity that dismisses my love as a parasitic hallucination or mirage. I always felt like a ghost. Love is how I connect and touch another’s soul. The texture shows me my soul isn’t alone, that there are others who feel and need what I feel and need. It’s not so much about them but how my soul speaks. I wonder if I’m just speaking in tongues, to others, or if there’s a primordial recognition, even if they can’t speak back?
I’ve been dying to have another soul to speak about God with, and this odd and bewildering existence we share.