A wail about my boring evening

I got so used to
This feeling
That only another person eyes’
Can give:
I am no longer able
To sustain my ego
That was once independent
Of the dull outside world.

It’s that strange feeling
Which very few people appreciate:
Looking in the eyes of someone
Who knows your name
First and foremost
Means one exists.
See, even I sometimes doubt
If my name is real
‘Cause without others
There is absolutely
No way for me to find out
Whether I mean anything, right?

That’s why evenings are hard:
After a day of exposure
To what some call friends
I can no longer be by myself
I become an ugly addict
Of the comforting idea:
“You are not alone”

Strange,
At once loneliness is my biggest
Pride, my moral peak,
Yet at the height of the tallest
Godly mountain you are inflicted
With unexplainable fear
Of that very same thing
That was just giving you
An existential orgasm.

I love my loneliness just as much
As I am afraid of it
So I grasp for a hand from one of those people
Who know my name.
I invite them to meet, to do the same shit
And walk, run, drive around,
I don’t care,
What’s important is that first glimpse
Of their flesh and hair.
You shake their hand, you say their name
And only expect they return
The same.
Here, you are once again sure at least for a few hours
You won’t kill yourself.

This evening might be pretty hard,
I didn’t find anyone I could meet.

Only my old friend.