The chronicles of loneliness

Lying in the twin sized bed, he is wondering, with a single pillow under his single head. The song is talking about someone on a similar bed, with a similar pillow under a similar head.

He is not alone, he is lonely.

He is inside his dark room, tucked away beneath the dark corridors which only his eyes can see. They are inside him, the corridors, in the morose corner of his mind.

He is longing for a perspective, a view above the horizon. He is not interested in the dark side of the moon, but that’s what he is been getting. He is tired of bits and pieces coming his way.

He is riding an ending spiral. The lights in the room are lit, but he can’t see anything. He is blinded by the sight. His heart is like a window pane after a rain shower, smeared by raindrops, which eventually leave behind the smear marks.

It is no one’s fault. The seats were already taken when he wished to sit. He doesn’t mind standing, as long as there is someone standing by him.

In his head there are only echoes and remains. of friends and lovers, as if they really made his day someday.

He writes to be reached, but the lines are down always.