I don't think the word lonely describes me. Lonely suggest that I am alone, yet I am not. It implies that another person, a place, or a memory, can slither into my life and fill a gap that inhabits my rib cage, that it can fill my soul with everything that it has been missing, and that it could make sense of all the cobwebs and thoughts that lurk inside my mind. I think that someone else's love could never wrap its roots around my rotting bones before they shatter. It could never count the petals that can be plucked from my eyelashes before they wither. I don't think anyone could replace this beautiful emptiness that lurks inside of me, or remember how long the lifeline on my palm is, or how many tick marks I've inscribed on it to count down until bliss. I don't think anyone will ever know me, heck I think I'll never truly know myself, and as a matter of fact, I don't think I ever even want anyone to try.
