Lonely is dark.
Lonely is the feeling of nighttime that stretches forever, a shadow that devours and suffocates. Light withers and wanes in its icy grip. Flames extinguish.
Lonely is tears.
Lonely is the feeling that runs bleak and black down the heart. And with each stilted beat, with each pregnant pause, you hear nothing but thick, heavy silence and the drowning of dreams.
Lonely is cold.
Lonely is the feeling of remembered lost loves and missed opportunities. It shatters composure. Mutilates. Marks. Slices down deep with its razor sharp tongue each time you think, “I’m not good enough.”
Lonely lies.
