the shape of loneliness

A studio apartment. A room full of people. A heart barricaded by too many self-preservation tactics. A silent apartment and a too loud head. Saying goodbye. A house with three kids and one adult. An empty barstool next to you. Reaching out to friends, checking in, but no questions asked in return. Questions asked but not wanting to answer. Not wanting to answer because the truth of your heart is too heavy. A six hour time zone difference. An empty swing swaying in the breeze. A pot without a lid. A negative sign every month. Looking at the sidewalks instead of those passing by. A website/an app with scores of superficial options. Dropping off your child at daycare. Cat calls from construction workers/passersby. Social media. A loveseat for two sat on by one. Being the first to arrive. An empty slot on a bookshelf. A three hour time zone difference. A keychain with no keys. Rain clouds. The third wheel. The last slice of pizza. No new messages. No lives left on Candy Crush. Cooking for one. The setting sun. A blank page.