Quiet

There's something about being alone. Sometimes I love it, and when I don't I detest the feeling to the brink of fear.

It's like taking a hotel room for the weekend, putting yourself in a nice big comfy room away from the other distractions in life. You indulge and give yourself a nice reward for all the you have to do to make others like you.

Here you are your own critic, and I think one would truly be at ease with onceself in such a scenerio - distant, quiet, forgotten.

While the rest of the world goes about their motion, I stay guarded by the fascination I have with myself, lying lazily in a big warm bed thinking about nothing but the next hour on that same big bed.

But you wake up periodically and warn yourself that this cannot go on. There is the element of loneliness, and it bores deep into your sentiment, providing you with the thirst for company. That urge is not healthy, often accompanied with impulses to run towards the very same things you so often wish you were hidden away from.

But it's true, even the strong get lonely sometimes, and when that feeling comes, it's the pits.