Not a Misanthrope

When you finally get used to new surroundings, loneliness comes and goes. No matter how close you are forced to coexist with another, real comfort and friendship still do not come easy. I keep finding myself comparing everyone I meet to friends of old. They might become better friends than those of old, but they never get a chance. I fear covering the memories of my past companions, I fear saying goodbye to yet another batch of friends. I even fear how it will end. I've said goodbye enough before. While I should be practiced enough at saying goodbye and making new friends only to say adios to them as well, every new place I travel to has me reacting the same. Saying goodbye is something I abhor, so I avoid it by not making friends. I've come to relish not being social, smiling as people pass by without a hint of recognition on their faces, secure in my knowledge that they were just another person I will never miss, will never wonder about, will never bid adieu to. Sometimes I think how twisted my preference for solitude is, but for some reason loneliness seems a better choice then the heart-wrenching goodbyes I might have had to go through. Sometimes I watch groups of friends from afar, and from my voyeur's vantage I think about how much they will miss each other. Life is so transient, friendship is so fleeting, and they have no idea.

I wrote this my first year of college when I realized after years of moving (I was a military brat) that I was hesitant to get out and meet new people, and after lots of soul searching finally realized why I was avoiding meeting anyone new. It's funny looking back how much I have changed, and how important some of the relationships I've had and lost since then were to me.