Loneliness

There is something strange about loneliness.It creeps up quietly, gives no warning, and leaves a chill when it goes. It’s not the word itself that frightens—it’s the understanding of what it means. It warps the mind and heart, plunging like a knife into every pore.

To be lonely is to be present yet apart, to watch life unfold beyond your reach no matter how hard you try to hold on. It is a terrible thing, loneliness—once unleashed, it never stops.

Shadows move all around you, seamless and synchronized, while the only solid shape is yourself. You pinch your arm, desperate to wake from the lucid dream, and meet a smirk from the shadow that once followed you.

You are remade. The shadow replaces you—your thoughts, your feelings, everything that made you distinct. It moulds you to match the eyes around you. When everyone is perfectly unique, suddenly we are all the same: trapped in a cycle of desperation and quiet rage.

A smile fixes itself to your face, a mask that refuses to break. The door remains locked. The key hangs from a chain at your neck, impossible to unclasp.

Through the glass, the shadow waves. You straighten. It beckons. You follow.

Because the lonely you is the perfect you—detached, poised, and in control.