It feels like years ago that everyone was here. Here… with me. I know it was just yesterday. I can spend time by myself and not be lonely. Loneliness may occur when one is alone, but they still hold two separate meanings. Alone and lonely. Lonely and alone. I will take the alone without lonely.

It felt so strange as I sat in the backyard devoid of any human contact. My body rested limply on the lounge chair and my mind was in a daze. Only under the sun does this occur. As I glanced down at my legs, I thought to myself “How lifeless.” Anyone who would’ve seen me might’ve thought I was lonely, but I, being me, was not.

As I sit in my room now, I try to mimic a forgotten and unnoticeable silhouette. Do I even need to try? It’s so strange to be here, here where eighteen years reside. I woke up one day and realized I had all the time in the world to spend here. My body was there, but not my mind. It had drifted away on those streaming clouds in the endless sky.

Though the pictures on my scarred walls brings a pain to my head, I try hard not to forget the memories anyone has given me, but even still, it feels as though everything shall turn into dust. I try hard even to remember how I once was. Through every piece of art holds a discreet character trait that belongs to me. But does it matter how I was? In a hundred years, everything I know will be gone.

In the now, I still thrive to figure out loneliness. What causes it so that our sense trigger a reaction and makes experience that of something depressing? It is it a need to feel loved? Why is it that when a living creature is with another of it’s kind, this depression seems to fade?

“With me existing, you can never feel alone.” My mind tells me, but I realize my mind is a lonely place to be.