Minute

Lonely.

I lay on my bed, with the window open, even though I know that it's November and it's nighttime, and the air outside is cold enough to fog your breath, but I leave it open anyway, because beyond it is outside. I get antsy when I don't have access to the outside.

I lay, covered by a beat up down comforter and an old blanket I nicked off the back of our sofa a couple weeks ago, and my face is flushed with excess heat from the comforter. The sounds of a fire engine echo down the quiet riverbed that lines the back part of our property.

I lay in bed, and as I lay in bed and listen to the sounds of my mom prepping a batch of heat-n-serve Spaghetti and meatballs for the microwave, I mull over my day.

The first thought is "I feel lonely." Sure, I have friends, well, at least I call them friends. I suppose they'd call me more of an acquaintance than nothing, even though some of us have known each other since kindergarten.

But although I am friends with these people and I associate with them on a regular basis, I don't really connect with them. I am surrounded by people but feel continually isolated.
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A/N: this may have ended on a negative note but it was basically just an epiphany I had today. I'm one of those people who gets along better with fictional characters than real people. Meh.