When only music or a book or a ray of sun or the gentle sway of a windchime or the emptiness of your room or the drawn out exhale of your inner self are the only things making you feel less alone. No tangible person could ever feel precisely what you are feeling. It saddens me when the company of others actually makes me feel more alone. When I would rather twist and turn amongst the colorful fantasies of my mind. There's more for me there than here.
So why am I here?