The Loneliness of visibility

Loneliness is ever present. We are alone from the moment of conception to the fading breaths of our death. I absolutely adore “The Loneliness of Specific Objects”. Throughout my life I have struggled with a lack of visibility. I feel unseen by myself, my peers, and the world around me. Memories flicker past in a movie reel, indecipherable and indistinguishable from the next. The world moves to fast for me to keep up. But in Marfa, time moves slower. The clouds are bigger and the horizon stretches past an invisible breaking point. I fell in love with a stranger on the streets of Marfa. He reminded me of the lost and found from elementary school. Everything about him was full of memory and claim, but at the same time was drifting and belonged to no one. I took a picture of him with his friend, claiming it was for an art project. I was barely a blip in his timeline, yet he’s remained in my head for the past three years. There’s a certain indescribable loneliness about living in people’s memories. And I think that that same loneliness is described perfectly withing “The Loneliness of Specific Objects”. The simple brutalist honesty within the writing exposes a personal facet of life that’s overlooked by the world. I find comfort in the words written and the familiarity of this writing.

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