I am alone but I am not lonely. I could sit for hours by myself and enjoy the company of my arsenal: the journal, the pens, the laptop, the cigarettes, the coffee, even my own pain. My company comprises of the people who I watch, the content faces who pass. They are my kinsmen in being alone.
I could be amongst a crowd for hours and still feel detached. Words cannot slice through my skin. Hugs cannot engulf me enough. The odd thing is there is no reason to be lonely. Perhaps being lonely is being without reason.
I analyze the tepid sewage water running under the Tijuana bridge. Sunlight dances in the discolored and foul smelling water and its incandescent reflection ballets on my face. The concrete railing sizzles under my grip. For a moment I imagine what it would be like to drown. I am then confronted with the possibility that I may already be drowning.
The bridge is a million memories away. I understand what it is all about. There is a cycle here. The trick is to never stop. The workaround is to never settle. Be it an arsenal, a crowd, a bridge. Hang around only when needed and move on when it becomes necessary. From the arsenal to the crowd to the bridge. They interchange. They mesh. All I need do is learn to squeeze through the spaces.
I sit for hours and delight in my own company. I stand in a crowd and find reason to smile. I look across the water from the bridge and laugh with the sunlight. I have learned my own cycle. The spaces are my waltz.