sometimes i get lonely. it’s the type of loneliness that does not creep on you like the other one does. it’s the loneliness that hits you like a ton of ember-lit bricks. it’s almost ethereal. except it burns.
hiss —
layers upon layers upon layers of it.
hiss —
hope disappears likes wisps of smoke.
still, loneliness stays. a whole lot of it. it makes itself known, like the soft drip of a faucet in a house too empty to echo. it sits with you. only because no one else is around to sit with you. so i don’t move. i don’t speak. i let it crawl into my bones, heavy and hollow.
and still —
the drip goes on.
a slow, cruel reminder.

i did not mind silence.
until it started answering back.