Digging up old writing.
Drowsily leaving a situation where I felt I could look nowhere for support, I'm mourning the inevitable end of my personal institutions, things that once felt so indestructible; the small and mighty collections of loved ones I've had rotate through my life in shifts and phases. It seemed insignificant at the time, but looking back, these phases feel warm, golden and glowing.
It's hard to accept that at various times in the last several years I've been A Part Of things, different things, which is all I've ever wanted, and none of those things stand up today. I have kept, where possible, a face from the crowd, endeared to me, sewn to me, but that certain kind of laughter that touches many people at once, the fluttering feeling in my stomach that says "I belong, I am home," they're both gone. Now, I live in my cold stone house, and when I want a friendly face I have to leave, and go knocking one at a time on doors as gray and chill as my own, one at a time, one at a time, exhausted by the end of the run but never fulfilled.
I am not an audience, and I am not a solitaire. I am not even an entertainer, though god knows I wish I were.
I am a family member. That is what I'm meant to be. Not one of the many, but one of the few, one of the happy, loving few who radiate light absorbed by those who surround them.
But I am not a family member for my -own- family, there are obstacles standing in the way. Instead I fashion sub-families with my companions, and without those sub-families, no matter how many people I love who love me, I will always feel inexplicably lonely. I need my loved ones to know and love each other, so we can all congregate in one spot and share each other when judged, mocked, ignored or harmed everywhere else.
And when I find them, without fail, they dissipate.