Lonely

It’s in the still silence of the evening. Though you turn on the portable AC to not only cool the bedroom and drown out the silence, you still feel it there.

It’s loneliness.

She hides within the old bricks of your building, between the keys of your blackberry, behind the unused radiator, and sometimes in the very vulnerable crevices of your mind.

You detect it in your voice when you speak to your mother or when you whisper to your lover. And you wonder if your voice is playing tricks on you, if your whole body is playing some sort of unfunny joke that really has no punch line.

Just a punch.

To the gut.

You want to tear it out so you can feel something that isn’t loneliness. Maybe when the warm liquid covers your shaking hands and the body heat escapes your abdomen, maybe then you’ll feel something closer to life.

After all, the fading of life is still a work of life.

Right?

Or would that simply induce more loneliness?