Loneliness is a powerful thing. In the middle of the hustling crowd, you stop and you look around. And you don’t recognize anyone. How you reached there is a mystery. Claustrophobia kicks in and now you find it difficult to breathe. How do you breathe? Someone please tell me how do you breathe. Then suddenly you ask why do you breathe, why do you keep on breathing. You listen, you cry, you cry, you speak, you eat, you sleep, you dream, you cry, you exist. Nothing that you throw in this vast emptiness seems to fill it up, nothing. Broken on empty promises and broken on life you yearn for something to race your heartbeat up a notch. But there it is, the same rate of a dead body, well as dead as an alive one can be. You walk these roads, trying to dig deep in your memory and unearth a happy one or even a terrible one, just to elicit some kind of response from yourself, but each one you come up with, falls short. Every heartbeat is clear as water in a glass. You walk with your shoulders slouched, as if the weight of the world was on it, yet you feel nothing. Is there something else or life just a bland repetition of variations of what it was till now. Loneliness is a powerful thing.
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