Loneliness to me does not have a pure definition.

It’s knowing that no one can hold onto me for I cannot hold myself long enough to feel the freedom of life, it’s being in the company of the stable whilst feeling like an unsteady lifeline on mute.

It’s abandonment before being abandoned, it’s having left myself before I met myself, for I have never truly become.

It’s alienation and alienating, both within and without, it’s hiding whilst shining and fading whilst visible.

It's exposed shadowed numbness while your world finds your heartbeat, its death while breathing.

It's unlovable daunting trauma, and now… it’s me, the unwavering indescribable description of a rigid self. Me.