Sometimes I feel lonely, not the loneliness that comes with accrued time in solitude but the deeper singularity of realizing that, mathematically speaking, there’s no one like me out there.
This is not meant to be sad.
With the complexity and randomness of genetics, combined with the irreplicable influence of our ever-evolving community constellations, and the wildcard of free will, there’s just no way anyone, anywhere, will view the world exactly as I do.
That makes me a category of one, as unique and unrepeatable as stardust or a child’s doodle.
With specialness comes loneliness. You can pretend it’s not there but if you follow the scribble in your shadow as you lay in bed with your eyes closed, you’ll eventually come to this (both the good news and the bad) – there’s no one like you.