My loneliness was a pet ,
I learnt to call it that -
the way that it hung on my shoulders
like a misery ridden creature,
It had no physical form
And yet it outweighed everything I had in me,
whether good or bad,
At one point I learnt to live with it ,
until it became almost unbearable to do so,
On days when it scratched my back begging for attention
were the nights that I broke,
It was a selfish being,
no different from people I'd known ,
It was easier to find comfort in it than I could find in anyone's home,
so I'd isolate myself and spend the dreary nights crawled up in my bed,
like a beaten dog ,half rigged and some loose bones,
It was a surreal experience
As if the walls in my room have doubled in size ,creating this void in my room,
Or maybe I'd grown small,
I realized if I felt lonely for too long
I might end up becoming a tiny speck,
and eventually unseen- which I nevertheless was,
But I found familiarity in my bones ,
that night I watched my favourite show again
and talked to my mother of how succulents thrive without any care ,
I was happy that day,
and my loneliness had somehow shrunken itself into this mindless dust ,
I slept that night peacefully,
and I dreamt of my mother
she was sitting by a tree
peeling oranges for me ,
and I was smiling and I could breathe.
-Tamanna.

© CosmicWriter