There is an overwhelming grief which consumes me in the dead silence of the night. For what reason? I don’t know. It just comes like a beggar waiting to be fed, to be seen, to be recognized. I often wonder if I am alone in this experience. Does someone else cry for something entirely unknown to himself? Was someone in this world overcome with an assault of sorrow in a perfectly normal day? Is someone else crying because they want to and not because they need to at that moment?
It was like I made a home from the loneliness, the anger and fear which plagues my heart all these years. It was like I built a refuge from the excruciating horrors inside my mind. It was being homesick for it despite the happiness I had received— always longing and reaching unknowingly to that place.
I am now haunted by this idea. That maybe, just maybe, I am more alone and lonely than I already am. And the worst thing is, I don’t know why.