Yes, I must have been a lonely soul in my past lives.
Maybe I was an only child. Growing up around grown-ups too busy to spare five minutes, a hug or a kiss. My only playmates were myself, and my imagination. As I walked the path of life, there was nobody to share my happiness, and everybody was too busy to offer comfort when I was down. Long was my shadow. Alone.
Or perhaps, I was a fugitive in a hostile world, where a wrong word at a wrong time to a wrong person could lead to a wrong end. My distance from others was my protection; my silence, my defense. Every face was greeted with cynicism. At no times, I could let my guard down to let anybody get close, and nobody would let me get close to them. Caution, was my only companion.
Or it could be that I was a lone survivor of an extinct tribe. Living in a foreign land where no one knew my language. The only purpose of my mother tongue was to converse with myself in my mind. Never out loud.
Or perhaps I was Robinson Crusoe in my previous life. Deserted.
Yes indeed, I must have been a lonely soul in my past lives. I like to smile.
Every face I meet, with a smile I will greet. A smile, triggered not by calls of courtesy or etiquette, constructed not by forceful twitching of facial mechanism, drawn by no conscious effort, but sprouts from a seed buried within me. When the seed is watered by radiance emanating from the company of another being, it grows. It blossoms into a smile beaming with happiness, just as when a void is finally filled, a thirst finally quenched, or a yearning satisfied at last. Joy.
Yes, I like to smile.
But, due to perhaps the heavier burden of life, or the fatigue brought by it, I feel the seed is buried deeper and deeper within me, and further and further apart, its blossoms scatter. Tired. Maybe.
Yet, I like to smile. Still.