Loneliness

There is a mystery in loneliness.

There is pain, love, digits extended in a futile grasp.

It is soul crushing, being binding, overflowing from your shell.

It extends your own self into a space that no one else occupies. 

So you fight the tears, knowing that the one that makes this all slip away can't kiss or hold you in their grip. 

So you focus on being fine in your loneliness, being 'happy' even though you can't reach the meaning of that world. 

Yet you poor yourself into everything you do, in your interactions, in your words, in your actions, hoping someone will see you screaming for air that you can't breath, and fighting to not swim in the water that is apart of you. 

Praying to what exists that you can be 'normal', trying to force yourself to smile, be cheery despite the calmed chaos in your beating heart and mind. It was always a fight, to live and not to die, so forgive me if I don't stick around for the ones that choose to avoid, ignore, and pain what I give, poisoning it with their words. I choose not to give it all out, I trust almost no one, sometimes not even myself. 

There is a truth in loneliness.