Loneliness

Today was one of those days on which I felt depressed. After filling pages and pages with words, sitting by the window, I sagged in a pile of sadness. The overcast that felt so beautiful and soothing with a light fluttering breeze, began to gesture the signs of loneliness. The thin air devoid of noise, where only one thing that existed was the distinct chill, it called me by whistling; disturbed my attention from the words on the paper to the flashing, heavenly clouds. I looked at it, silently. It was all white. Even if I looked into it more closely, I could only see the same thing.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. The pencil was held loosely in between my fingers. It felt numb. I applied the grip to write something. But nothing came out from my heart, nor mind. A sense of loneliness had crept under my skin. I was being pulled away to the gloominess. I felt like there was no one left in the world. It was only me. I wanted someone to be close to me. Make their presence evident to me. Touch me to tell that they understand what I was feeling. I didn't want to be left, lying in the corner, unheard. I just wanted someone to hear the voice stifled in my heart without speaking. I was too shy to let it out; parting the lips was like unstitching the scars on a flesh. I couldn't differentiate that if unstitiching the scars was the pain of waking the past memories or the sadness in them.
I wished I had anyone that was close to me like a bestfriend. Everytime when I felt that way; cocooned in a shroud, which made my presence invisible and my voice unheard, I relied on my only strength. Words. That expressed the heart's message to the outside world. I sketched the image of growing loneliness in the paragraphs of a short story, in which every sentence defended my state; told people that I am alive, breathing and have an identity. Don't ignore my feelings. Even the sad ones. They could be precious as the happy ones. It realized that being sad makes us who we are. It's a time to revive out of the darkness and bloom with less flaws. Grow and appear more fresh. Nobody would be able to see you differently if you stayed the same color.
I was really lonely that I began to feel the black clouds pressing against me. But after writing the moment I experienced, it felt that I dug through the clog which abstained the hope, the light to pass inside me. I am more alive. A surge of energy splashed in my veins and the happiness planted the seed in my heart.
It was terrible to cope with this when I had no one who could understand me. Except my bestfriend, writing, which saved me from dying without a voice, that was only heard when somebody read it.