it's not like i don't have friends, they're all online

there’s this strange comfort in knowing someone out there, miles away, is typing out a message meant for me. a meme, a voice note, a long thread of our mutual overthinking—digital moments pieced together in a tapestry of connection. my phone lights up often enough to remind me that i’m cared for. i have people. i’m not alone.

and yet, i feel lonely.

the paradox of online friendships is that they’re both intimate and distant. there’s a certain rawness in sharing your thoughts through text, a quiet courage in typing out confessions without the weight of eye contact. i’ve laughed till i cried at late-night conversations, found solace in words exchanged across cities, and built a bond with people i’ve never even met. they’ve seen my soul, perhaps more clearly than the friends i’ve known in person. but when the screen turns off, i am alone in my room. the laughter fades into silence, leaving an emptiness that no text notification can fill.

i tell myself this is enough. that in a world where connection is a luxury, i’m lucky to have anyone at all. but sometimes, i catch myself yearning for something more tactile—a hug, a shared cup of coffee, the warmth of someone sitting next to me, not pixelated on a screen. it’s the physicality of friendship i miss, the unspoken moments that only happen when you’re together in the same room: the way someone’s laughter echoes, the awkward pauses, the energy of shared silence.

dont get me wrong, i’m more than grateful ive found such wonderful people online. but the problem is when the schedules don’t match, when were not online at the same time. the problem is when i want to go out in the evening and i’m forced to go alone because everyone else has people they’d rather go with and i’m here wishing my friends were here next to me.

i wonder if the loneliness i feel is selfish. after all, i have people who care for me, people who make an effort to be present in the ways they can. but the gap between "having people" and "feeling connected" feels vast, like standing on opposite sides of a canyon, shouting across. words travel, but they never quite reach the heart of what i want to say: i love you, but i miss you. i need more than this.

sometimes, i think the internet has tricked me into believing i’m closer to people than i really am. it creates an illusion of constant connection, of always being a message away. but convenience isn’t intimacy. and while my friends are real, our distance feels like a constant reminder that something’s missing.

i don’t know what the answer is. i’m grateful for my online friends—they’ve given me so much joy and support. but i’m also learning to sit with the ache of loneliness, to accept it as part of my reality rather than something to fight against. maybe the answer isn’t choosing between online and offline friendships but finding balance. making space for both. but what am i going to do if i can’t stop searching for the safety and intimacy i feel in online friendships in real-life ones, when i can’t bring myself to open up because it all becomes a bit too real when the person is a living breathing being standing right in front of me. the words reach my throat but never actually come out. i am trying and i’m trying but i can’t bring myself to say what i want to say. everyone finds it very easy, but not me. i’m too afraid of them leaving because that’s basically every single real-life friendship i’ve had; they leave for whatever reason and i’m left there standing in the dust, wishing for more and receiving nothing. and then i have to do the entire process once again. you cannot imagine how many times i’ve put myself through this thinking, this time it’s going to be different, i’m sure of it. but it never is different. it’s always the same. i’m the fool.

in the meantime, i’ll send another message, join another call, and hold onto the connection i have, even if it’s only through a screen. it may not be everything i need, but it’s something. and sometimes, something is enough.