I am Me. In all the world, there is no one else exactly like me.
I like being alone, but I hate the feeling of being lonely. When you’re alone, you have time for yourself. Your thoughts finally catch up to you. You set your mind on things and everything is just clearer. Nothing’s bothering you and everything just feels right for once. When you feel lonely, you feel as if no one’s there for you. It feels like no one understands you or is willing to listen. It feels like you’re screaming in a crowded room, yet not one person hears you. all of it make me tired when I get up. Life requires an effort I cannot make. Please give me that heavy book. I need to put something heavy like that on top of my head. I have to place my feet under the pillows always, so as to be able to stay on earth.
Otherwise I feel myself going away, going away at a tremendous speed, on account of my lightness. I know that I am dead. Don’t say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe. I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have to share my kingdom with you. but now it's too hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there?
But, he had gone away and he could never go back any more. The gates were closed, the sun was gone down, and there was no beauty but the gray beauty of steel that withstands all time. Even the grief he could have borne was left behind in the country of illusion, of youth, of the richness of life, where his winter dreams had flourished. “Long ago,” he said, “long ago, there was something in me, but now that thing is gone. Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more"
