How sad it is that a person can grow accustomed to loneliness.
How the hollow ache of a heart becomes a comfort and the quiet hallways of a house can become a home.
How when a we have no one to turn to, we turn on ourselves. A cut for every word you can\'t speak and a bruise for all of the people who leave.
How with each passing day the voices of loved ones become nothing more than a whisper as the ringing in our heads becomes skull shatteringly loud.
How sad it is that I can write about loneliness to strangers, describing the way it clouds my life day after day, yet when my mother asks me \"what\'s wrong\" I can\'t find a single word in all of my vocabulary to answer her one question.