Loneliness.
Is it not fear itself?
Whisper about your lifeless zombies, your invisible ghosts and your fiendish vampires, but deep within Man's heart, almost all of us fear the same thing.
Solitude. The four walls of your mind in a padded cell, where you listen to your own anguish, where you cry for your griefs, where you lament for your sufferings. Alone. Tired.
Yet - is it so bad, really? To be with one's quintessential self; undisturbed. It sometimes baffles me how certain people are deathly afraid of being alone. They cling on desperately to the last shred of company, frantic. To them, loneliness is when the world ends, when their lives crash into black oblivion, wasted across the skies. Bleak do their lives become, when not surrounded by their constant groups of chattering friends.
But everyone is alone. Every day, loneliness pervades our lives, whether we know it or not. So is it worthy of being feared to such extremes, when loneliness is just a part of our lives?
I embrace it. Solitude is my sanctuary, my haven. When your windows to the world are painted ebony black, when you close your eyes to smell the scent of grass, when you hear the calls of croaking frogs and chirping crickets, when you feel nothing and no one but the earth beneath your feet. You cry, but you don't know why. Does the isolation kill you, or heal you? Does deception pool at your feet, as society continues its cruel ways, telling you how to eat, how to think, how to bloody pass motion. Loneliness is a disease, they say with fervent nods but dimming eyes. Destroy it and you will be free.
You smile.
And you give in.