There's this kind of loneliness that sits on your back, like a shroud. You carry it everywhere you go. Amidst family and friends. Within crowds and without. Sometimes it engulfs you like a hug. Sometimes it's within you, sitting at the base of your throat or the tips of your finger. Sometimes it holds your hand, sits in your palm. There's this kind of loneliness that is a constant presence. Closer than your heartbeat, lighter than your shadow. So much so that sometimes it's impossible to discern where it ends and you begin. So much so that you can't call it loneliness anymore. More of a companion than company ever is.