I’ve noticed something quietly interesting.

Many people who move through life alone don’t have fixed friend groups and rarely show up at gatherings.

If you ask whether they feel lonely, the answer usually comes fast: “I don’t need friends.” “I’m more comfortable on my own.”

But over time, I realized, they care deeply about presence. It’s just calibrated very precisely.

For example, they often go to the same shop, the same stall, over and over again. Not because it’s cheap. Not because it’s exceptional. But because of that subtle moment: “The owner seems to remember me.” “A small nod when they see me.” “No need to explain. No extra questions.”

It’s the feeling of being recognized, without being interrupted.

I have a friend like this. If he orders the exact same coffee three times in a row at the same café, and the counter still treats him like a stranger, he’ll quietly switch places.

Not out of anger just a soft, unspoken disappointment. But if one day the staff becomes too familiar, asking things like: “Why didn’t you order your usual today?” “You look tired lately, are you okay?” he steps back.

Too close. The safety buffer is gone.

That’s when I realized many people don’t reject connection. They want a controlled, low-risk version of being seen.

No need to explain their life. No need to provide context. Just enough recognition to confirm they exist.

People are complicated. Afraid of being ignored, yet equally afraid of being seen too clearly. Wanting to exist, without being claimed.

Maybe the most comfortable relationships have never been about deep intimacy but something simpler: I’m here. You know.

You’re here. I’m at ease. That’s enough.



—— XC Scribbles · 柒拾貳 LXXII 🐥