Wednesday, April 29, 2009


Is it possible to be surrounded by people constantly yet still be lonely beyond words? To feel that nobody understands what is in your heart and your mind? To have turned to endeavors like writing (as well as other self-destructive acts that shall remain nameless) in an attempt to fill up that terrible aching emptiness? To know for a veritable fact that absolutely nobody understands you?

Is writing a salve?

Is writing a calling?

And what is the correlation between writing and loneliness? Based on my research, there has to be one, at least as a general rule.

Oh, God, I wish I could be an exception to this one ...