The room was cold
but the air was warm.
The room was filled with people,
and yet I still felt alone.
I sat in the corner, observing people:
the way they spoke,
the curl of their lips when they laughed,
even the darkest secrets they wished to hide—
fake smiles,
bitter tears,
toxic love.
I observed everyone except myself.
In the corner, it was dark.
My skin felt molded to the wall I leaned on.
All the chatter in the room,
thinking so much,
yet feeling so little.
I looked around the corner,
taking in all its qualities.
It was the only part of the room
where light didn’t seem to shine—
a prison,
isolated.
I couldn’t help but wish
people observed me the way I observed them.
Wanting to be seen is a dark feeling—
aching for love
without begging for attention.
In the quiet moments,
I realize I might be alone.
This corner is my safe space,
my shield from
fake people behind masks
and the dark jokes they laugh at.
But it is also my cage—
the reason I am concealed,
isolated from the rest.
Who knew my place of comfort
was also the cause of my loneliness?
I need to get out.
Five simple words,
but they feel hard to swallow.
This corner holds me back—
from experiences,
people,
hurt,
happiness.
I need to get out.
I muster the courage to stand.
I take a deep breath
and embrace my surroundings:
five things I feel,
four things I see,
three things I touch,
two things I taste,
one thing I want:
freedom.
I step into the brightly lit room.
The place feels unrecognizable,
a world beyond my isolation.
The people almost seem—
friendly?
I make rockets of my legs
and approach a girl.
Her name is Rose.
She has two piercings,
three friends,
four sisters,
five dogs,
and a million dreams.
She tells me her story.
I almost feel pity.
She struggled growing up—
two homes,
a loving mom,
an alcoholic dad.
But in her story, I find comfort.
Knowing others struggle too,
I realize sadness doesn’t like loneliness.
I glance back at the corner
I once called home.
Now I see it clearly—
it was a prison all along.