Do you know who you are?

Chapter one: The Illusion Of Company

Loneliness, in its solitude, is a vast and silent sea, stretching endlessly beyond the horizon. It is the quiet moments before dawn, when the world holds its breath, and the first light begins to paint the sky in soft hues of pink and gold. In loneliness, there is a profound stillness, a space where one can hear the whisper of their own thoughts and the gentle rhythm of their heartbeat.

"Stop romanticising loneliness."

He spoke in his low, gravely voice, he sounded tired, almost as if he gave up already.

Did he give up already?

"Stop it."

He continued, his emotionless face staring at the cigarette between my lips.

He grunts, his boney fingers bringing the lighter closer, lighting it up.

Stop, he said.

As if I can, as if I'm strong enough to control my mind, I'm not even sure it's my mind.
Who am I? What am I?

I didn't look at him, or it, because it's not a him, it's not a she, it's not a them, it's a it.

A faceless voice looming over me whenever I find a corner of happiness, or at least what I thought was happiness.

What am I? Who am I?

Is loneliness that bad?

I fear it's starting to become who I am.

But the world is never black or white, nothing is just right or just wrong, it pains me to be constantly in a shade of grey.

_________

Loneliness can be a garden of introspection, where thoughts bloom like wildflowers, each one unique and beautiful in its own right. It is in these solitary moments that creativity often finds its voice, unfurling like a delicate fern in the dappled light of an ancient forest.

Here, amidst the quiet, one can explore the depths of their own being, unearthing hidden treasures and forgotten dreams.

"Is it really quiet when you're alone?"

Its voice it's everywhere.

His voice?

Dark, gruff and filled with pungent sarcasm.

But sure it is, quiet, alone.
Just how I like it.
In the embrace of loneliness, there is a certain romance, a melancholic beauty that speaks to the soul. It is a reminder of our intrinsic need for connection, and yet, it is also a testament to the strength we find within ourselves when we stand alone. Loneliness is not merely the absence of others; it is the presence of oneself, in all its raw and unfiltered glory.

"I'm here."

He was mocking me, slicing through my optimism like an arrow, shooting from apparently nowhere, and yet here it was.

The overwhelming feeling that everything was fiction, was I even real?

"Pathetic."

The insult cut deep, but I was alone, wasn't I?

Who am I? What am I?

Oh yes, loneliness, solitude.
Oh what a wonderful feeling, peace.

It is a journey inward, a pilgrimage to the heart of who we are, revealing truths that might otherwise remain obscured in the noise of daily life.

"Ash it."

"Huh?"

I turned around for the first time since feeling his presence looming over me.

"The cigarette. Ash it."

He repeated, nonchalant.
I couldn't see his face, he, no, it didn't have a face.

"Yeah, sorry."

I spoke softly.
Is that my voice?
Is it me?
What am I? Who am I?

"Don't ask for forgiveness."

He mocked me again.
He liked my submission, he thrived on it. I could see his freakishly long arms grow even more.

He was feeding on my submission.

"I'm sorry."

My voice was so soft, just like a child that knew did something bad, afraid of the consequences.

But I am alone.

Am I?

Lonely.

'Cause, loneliness is a paradoxical gift, a bittersweet symphony that resonates deeply within us, inviting us to dance to the music of our own solitude.
It is a mirror reflecting both our vulnerability and our resilience, a canvas upon which we can paint the intricate tapestry of our inner world. In this sacred space, we come to know ourselves more intimately, discovering the delicate balance between longing and fulfillment, sorrow and joy.

"Pathetic."

His voice sounded again as I stubbed the, now finished, cigarette.

---