The Passion of Victor Frankenstein

I fell into bad habits.

I tried to build a human being

inside my mind.

I chose hair and eye colors

like I was picking up fruit at the market.

I designed his likes and dislikes

so they would fit against mine.

I imagined a family and memories and a relationship

with someone who wouldn’t ever exist.

I picked out a sense of style,

a career,

a personality,

a smile,

cobbled from people who did exist.

In my mind,

I welded these pieces together,

breathed life into a fantasy,

and fell in love with an idea of a person.

Because real people are scary.

And I can barely look most of them in the eye,

let alone talk to them,

make a connection with them.

The idea inside my head,

that person I can’t touch

can’t touch me either.

But it’s not enough.

And it’s so easy to forget,
that even though we are faced with our imminent mortality,

weighted with this reality
the fingers of our gravity reach out.
And grab for wayside individuals
who - despite not saying so - want to accept,
because we are all afraid of our loneliness.