Loneliness does not merely mean being alone but being without something. In essence loneliness is the absence of a thing. You cannot be lonely for something if you have not experienced its presence. A house only becomes an empty house if it has once been full.
Loneliness is being without.
Is it then better to be loved and to stop being loved than to never be loved? Is it not better to never know what it feels like to have a soul mate than to have one for a short period? Isn’t the hole much bigger, when something huge has been forced in then taken out?
Is it not better to just be than to for a brief moment experience the tornado that is love and be left with nothing but the resulting devastation?
Would a person, born blind, wish to see the world in full colour only to be returned to blind darkness? Wouldn’t this darkness be all the more devastating because then the blind person will know the true depth of their blindness? The darkness a constant reminder of the colour and light they have been denied of?
And in love, is it worth loving and losing? Can we love truly, knowing that it is only for now? Knowing that this glorious love we are experiencing today, may be soon relegated to that sad space that is occupied by burned out love?
How can a person slowly but surely insert themselves into your being and your heart and then violently extract themselves leaving you with a gaping them-shaped hole and frantically trying to stem the terrible bleeding out of yourself?
I don’t know.