Singular Peculiar

I reckon maybe tomorrow I won’t be the same you met today. I realise perhaps it’s a matter of time to give you back your sympathy, to ask you to keep your calm and swallow your apathy. I understand it’s now I don’t want your pity and I don’t need this surgical survival. That random twister clinching the me I was and the not-so-me I am. And now I see the completion of it all depends on more than one. One… the sound comes to my head… the song… and the words keep echoing… “one is the loneliest number” and the rest goes “two can be as bad as one, it’s the loneliest number since the number one.” And I find it might be true. And it’s sad… it is. It becomes the twister clinching me now, replacing what there was and no longer is. It’s because I always wished it would be simpler. Or maybe I knew it could, but it is not.