solitude is your worst enemy and your best friend. it is in your veins, in your genetic code. you can't stand it, yet your eyes withdraw from scenes too packed. this is a version of you you can understand. your incessant pondering, your inner monologue, breathing in one, two, three, four, five; exhaling in six, seven, eight, nine, ten. you've been lonely for so long there's no chance someone can seemingly get you out of it. it looks, to your eyes, absolutely hopeless to fight against the walls you've built around yourself. don't try to fight it; the only feelings you miss are from those rainy days. you weren't happy. but why do you miss them? is it the freedom of being alone which captivates? is it the way you discover yourself through it? or how it makes you desperate? in any case, you'll sit alone in yet another graveyard at sunset and smoke among strangers. you'll make your way to houses of people you don't know for long lost memories and sit in the coffee shop at their corner, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of someone else's company. maybe then you'll see yourself there and find your place. in someone else's veins maybe, that's where solitude won't turn into loneliness.