I think I found my tribe once, a people in whom I saw myself. Together we stood in unity, for each other we wanted goodness and prosperity. There was no selfishness in this sort of friendship, it was innocent, pure, it was beautiful. It was the sort of thing you read about in fantastic tales, and sometimes it felt like it’s own.
But that tribe left me as quickly as it came. For when the clock struck 18, it was time for all of us to head in separate directions, to evaporate into the world, in this way and in that. I wonder, sometimes, if I will ever find my way to my tribe again, and what form it will take this time, for it can never be the same as it was. I wonder if I deserve to rediscover that sort of unadulterated bond, for perhaps it can only remain as long as one remains pure within their own person. My innocence then, it seems, was short-lived.
It hurts now, as I float through life, a formless vapor, drifting. I make loose connections, all fruitless, all bland. No one seems authentic in the eyes, they greet you with that surface-smile and don’t submerge themselves in conversation the way sentient beings, blessed with unparalleled acuity in the art of articulation, should. They say things of little substance and when you decide to bare bits of your soul to those among them that are at least making an effort, they stare back with a lifeless, inconclusive gaze that is irreparably exhausting. I am lost among a crowd in which I do not, no matter how hard I try, see myself.
I yearn for the day when I shall be reunited with my people at last (whether it is in this life or the next).