Loneliness is not an old friend like depression.
Depression is the old friend who you know will never forget to stop in and visit.
Loneliness is the piece of gravel that the truck kicks up and bounces off the windshield of the car you drive. Maybe a chip maybe a crack hardly worth getting fixed.
At the time it was a shot in the dark, moving too quickly and only in immediate retrospect do you realize it's insignificance.
At the time it made your heart stop it made you swerve wildly or slam down the break pedal; as if one could avoid what has already passed.
It embarrasses you in front of yourself. Mocking you, taunting you to act or feel differently than you did the moment it happened. Tempting you to believe that you could have done otherwise.
When truly every second after the fact, after that point of impact, that moment of vulnerability, that twinge of embarrassment, that hollowing out that loneliness does to the guts of your soul, a lifetime elapses, exposing nothing because there is nothing in loneliness.
It is made of nothing, it becomes nothing, means nothing, intends for nothing, portends nothing, and rewards all those who worship at the altar of loneliness with nothing.
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