in my early, early teens, right when puberty began to wreak havoc on my chubby body, I wept. alone in the dark, in the single bedroom I shared with my mother, I wept that I would never find love, that life was painful and lonely. I had never really known company, never really shared a friendship that kept me whole. the type of bond that perhaps a father and son would share, or a brother, or even a sister. that singular bond that made you not singular, that common knowledge that you came from the same womb, both of you, all three of you, even four, came from a commonality. whatever your differences in opinion, in gender, in eventual lifestyle, you began from a common point, shared a common history that you could touch simultaneously.
but I never had that. I had friends. friends with common backgrounds even (Greek, absent fathers, etc). friends who I think even looked up to me, admired me, but I always felt forever singular, forever odd, forever apart. and there in the night, in the dark, I wept because no one would weep for me when I died. no one would truly know me.