Loneliness to me does not have a pure definition.
It's knowing that no one can hold onto me for I cannot hold myself long enough to feel the freedom of life, it's being in the company of the stable whilst feeling like an unsteady lifeline on mute.
It's abandonment before being abandoned, it's having left myself before I met myself, for I have never truly become.
It's alienation and alienating, both within and without, it's hiding whilst shining and fading whilst visible.
Its exposed counterfeit numbness while your world whirlwinds your heartbeat, its death while breathing.
Its unlovable daunting trauma, and now... it's me, the unwavering indescribable description of a rigid self.
Me.
YOU ARE READING
Loneliness?
Non-FictionHello loneliness, my invincible friend. For you, I have so many words and only time is ours.
