the thing about it is

The thing about it is, it won't kill you.
Loneliness.
YES! this is one of those posts. I wish it wasn't. It is though. I feel like I have to write these things, because I feel them.
I feel it. It.
Like a stab, like a lot of stabs, the kind of deep anxious dreadful jabbing stab that makes you want to hurt yourself so you feel something else besides it. It.
Loneliness. Yeah.
It makes you wish you were dead, sometimes, or at least that your nerves were dead, so you didn't feel so damn awful much.
It's a space that needs filling, with gin or sex or hip hop or frenzied running around. It hits you that it's been yea long since someone, anyone, a stranger even, held you, hugged you, really grabbed on, and meant it.
*
It won't kill you though, loneliness. You'll live through it. You'll live to be lonely another day.
I imagine it away sometimes, like turning off an old television set, a bright digital flash consolidating in on itself like a collapsing star.