The Window of Longing - 8. Lonely Alone

It's at moments when the clock strikes 8 and the world gets quieter. A shrill silence that lies heavy in the air and heavier on the chest. An emptiness that penetrates the bones and startles the heart. A sensation of destituteness, if you will. An unfamiliarity with his-self. A plague of the mind spurred on by humbly giving: time...love...patience...care... warmth to anyone but him-self. An exchange for no change.

Through this, he lies awake at night or in times when not needed, not knowing what to do, or who to offer his time to next. He doesn't know how to exist without being of use. He feels unsettled by the mute voices of eyes and ears. He sits in his room, unseen and unheard till the next time he is wanted or is needed to entertain. He then prances around like a court jester, gaining sustenance from laughs and smiles. He is nothing without them. He doesn't know how to occupy his free time. He is not his own friend. Even in the mirror, his self is e/motionless and wants for naught. He cannot be by him self. He is lonely alone.