Member-only story
Lonely Guy
Lonely Guy, a tall, wispy persona, moves in and out, waif grey, never far from music. He wasn’t acknowledged in the Persona Boardroom until five years ago when I moved from public life in the city to a small seaside town where I didn’t know anyone. Lonely Guy appeared in the shadowy outskirts of the Mental Command Center. I had never formally met him, and in these past five years, I’ve come to appreciate his complex and misunderstood role.
At first, I thought I was lonely for collaboration. Accustomed to a steady diet of creative projects, I sought to fill the gap, but my efforts didn’t appease Lonely Guy. He aggresses from the shadows, and I could hear him in the kitchen chopping wood and feeding the wood stove. Thinking he might want some company, I joined him, but the atmosphere became tense, and I left.
Chop, chop, chop, a lonely cadence chipping into my heart.
Lonely Guy has a Bluetooth Boom Box slung over his shoulder by a brown leather strap. I don’t know his playlist because he wears bulky, black headphones, but I compiled a list of lonely evocative songs watching him dance, lost in a seemingly beautiful ache.
Al Green, How Can You Mend A Broken Heart.
Lonely Guy sent me a text: You understand now that you’ve been lonely to recognize your brokenness. Instead, you tried to fix it and make it go away.
