Rizzless Sapphist

In so many ways, London feels like the loneliest place on earth.

All the hustle and bustle, all the pubs and tight-knit friendship circles, all the artsy festivals and thrift markets, the buzz of the night life, the goddamn city that never sleeps and it still feels like the loneliest freaking place on the planet.

Or at least, I'm the loneliest I've ever felt. And my brain correlates this with living in London because what if I'm too afraid to admit that it's me? My loneliness is mine and mine alone, and watching life go by from the window while I sit in the library and write my thoughts on paper time and time again will change none of it.

I'm more vocal with my laptop and notes app than I am with another individual in real life.

Real life, what's real these days anyway? AI dominating our feeds, our minds, our very form of existence, sometimes I question whether I'm being real with myself. Sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am, what I want, or why I even choose to continue on the way I do. And then other times I feel I have too much self awareness and I wish I could turn the thoughts off.

Silence! God, I crave silence, both in my head and in the London streets. All I hear is sirens and trains on their tracks, and buses pulling in, and people having a jolly good time down by the pub across the library god, this hurts. Why is it that people can be having so much fun in the same city where I feel my heart aching and my soul slowly deteriorating?

I miss the times when my thoughts wouldn't consume me. I hate that I ruminate so much. On everything and nothing, sometimes I simply ruminate for the sake of doing so. Maybe it's comforting, maybe it's a form of stimming? Maybe it makes me feel like I'm working through my feelings when all I'm doing is circling around them time and time again. What I think is creating a linear journey is just a giant circle that leads me back to square one and it makes me feel lonely all over again because it's just me.

Just me. In my head. No one else to create an escape clause in this forever loop of rumination.

They say that being alone isn't the same as being lonely. But what they fail to mention is how hollow you feel when they join forces and co-exist in the same person. How can two concepts weigh so much while simultaneously creating a hole in your chest? I don't feel anything yet I feel the loudness of that nothingness; it's a paradox.

And so I ruminate, and write, and cry, and feel things that are difficult to articulate unless I ruminate, write, and cry some more.

I mean, maybe I'm insane. Maybe I'm imagining sparks that were only coming from me and he was just existing. Maybe I was just feeling the light and charm of my own energy and then misattributing it to something we were creating together. Idk, when we said bye to each other after chatting, he jokingly shook my hand with a firm grip and then he giggled to himself and said, "I'm just kidding". Then he came in for a hug, and hugged me so sincerely; it felt really comforting to have his arms around me like that. But it lasted for such a normal amount of time that I don't have enough intel from the hug to decipher whether it was purely friendly or not idk. Maybe he's just an average CEO who enjoys having meaningful conversations at networking events and joking around with the people he's in conversation with and then hugging them goodbye.

One thing's for sure, it feels great to have a crush again, even though it's driving me crazy. God, thinking about him is driving me crazy, and I know there's no possible chance for us to even take this to the next level. I don't even think I want to! I think it just feels nice to be spoken to with intention, and to be touched by someone with a smile as gorgeous as his. It feels amazing to be looked at by someone with thoughtful eyes like his. For someone with his melodic laugh to find something you said funny, and let you know just how much by laughing at it for longer than is customary at a networking event.

I want him to want me, and part of me wants him to know that I want him too. At the same time, I'm enjoying the limbo'ness of all this. The imaginary'ness of it all. It's not real, and so I can fantasise about it as much as I want, and there are no material consequences. But at the same time, I really want to hold his hand and look into his eyes, while we're both just giggling at nothing, and just soaking up the reality of our being together in the moment. I want him to hold me, for a prolonged period of time, and smile at me the way he does when he doesn't know what to say, or when you've just said something clever. I want him to think about me as much as I'm writing about him now, and I want him to admire me the way I do him.