Loneliness

 Loneliness does not arrive loudly. It settles in the room and waits. It sits in the chair across from you and says nothing. It follows you into the kitchen. It stands beside you at the sink while you run water over dishes you do not remember using.

The pain of it is physical. Your chest tightens for no clear reason. Your jaw stays clenched long after the conversation that never happened. Sleep becomes thin. You wake as if someone called your name, but no one did.

 

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from not being seen. It is not the tiredness of work. It is the tiredness of holding yourself together without witness. You begin to narrate your own life in your head because no one else is listening. You rehearse stories you will never tell. You answer questions that were never asked.

 

Food loses taste. Music sounds distant. Even the air feels different, as if it belongs to other people more than it belongs to you. You start to measure time by silence. Afternoons stretch. Evenings feel heavier than they should.

 

Loneliness can distort memory. You revisit old conversations and search for the moment you were left behind. You wonder if you spoke too much or not enough. You question your worth in ways you would never question someone else’s.

 

The body keeps score. Headaches arrive. Shoulders stiffen. Your heartbeat feels louder in quiet rooms. You scroll through messages and see nothing meant for you. The world appears full, but you feel removed from it, as if standing outside a window looking in.

 

There is grief in loneliness. Not always for a specific person, but for connection itself. For shared laughter. For someone who notices when your voice changes. For the simple relief of not having to explain why you are tired.

 

Yet beneath the ache, something steady remains. The part of you that still hopes. The part that believes presence matters. That part waits for warmth the way skin waits for sunlight. It has not disappeared. It is only resting, conserving strength.

 

Loneliness hurts because you were made for contact. And your heart expects response. Silence is not the same as peace.

 

And even in the quiet, your pulse continues. That, too, means something.