Loneliness is being alone. Tasting solitude and annoying yourself beyond any belief that there are other people out there because it is only your mind that confines itself with itself. A terrible mix of who you are alone compared against what you might think you are with others. Being lost isn’t nearly as hallow as you’d think, it gives you the opportunity to be found…not by others, which isn’t important, but to accidentally know that you’d be sought or fought for. Does that give worth? Does life begin with birth? Or does it begin with knowing that at one point you’re going to die and to live you’ll have to know you’re not going to live? These poor lives that may in fact be rich with things so greatly out of reach are the saddest and most perfect examples of why we must hate being happy with what we have.
