She buries her head in her lap and presses hard on her eyes. In the quietness of her heart and in the dead of the night, she lies in the darkness, conflicted. Burdened for the people she loves and torn for the ones that she has lost. There is so much noise around her. Constant, pressing noise that determines to never stop. She tries to cover her ears from the noise, but by doing that she cannot cover her eyes. She would rather have a shield in front of her eyes to block out the pain and the darkness. So, her hands rest upon her eyes instead of her ears. She listens, but she cannot see—nor does she want to. She slowly curls up on the hard, dirty floor. She is in the darkness, wondering, thinking, fearing, and losing. Losing her sleep, losing her sanity, and losing the strength to keep living.
Her body continues to fail and she never smiles. She lives alone within her own problems, her own life. Should she ever chance a peek, she would find this: people just like her, curled up on the floor, in loneliness. But no, she keeps her hands tightly over her eyes. She hears the noises, the people, the voices calling out for help, however, she cannot see them. She does not even try to see them. She is so consumed within herself and afraid of her own Lonely.
But, what is lonely if we all feel it? And what is Alone if we have all been there? Is it really something that we are in by ourselves or is loneliness something that everyone has, but no one admits. Or do we admit it, but determine to bury ourselves by it?
So she lies there, alone. Yet, there are people all around her. People just like her that are afraid of the Lonely. People that think they are the only ones to be surrounded by the Alone. People curled up on the floor….in loneliness. All of them, every one, covers their eyes. They hear the the noises, the clatter of empty voices and searching hearts. Yet, each have refused to look around, and I wonder which one of us will be the first to take our hands from our eyes.
Sierra V. Fedorko 