Loneliness is tearing up books in class while the teacher turns a blind eye;
Loneliness is a late-night heart-to-heart with an unsheathed craft knife;
Loneliness is the countless moments of hesitation behind the balcony railing;
Loneliness is the bitter medicinal powder that can only be barely swallowed with thick yogurt;
Loneliness is treading upon the sunset glow, walking past the myriad lights just kindled, and stepping into a realm of nether gloom;
Loneliness is the stacks of suicide notes accumulating in the drawer;
Loneliness is going to the cafeteria alone, day after day;
Loneliness is crying while begging your parents to spare you;
Loneliness is the torrential rain that drenches you completely.
Growth is born in the depths of loneliness; he makes loneliness understand how insignificant other people are.
Growth shatters the glass bottle filled with tears, savors the peeling scabs, and tells loneliness:
Only you yourself are inseparable from you; you shall obtain what you desire; born on the same day and dying on the same day as you, knowing all your thoughts.
Growth is living, while loneliness is thinking, at every moment, about dying in a little while.
I tightly embrace my past self, yet the future is nowhere to be found.
Growth holds the golden sunset in his arms, pulls loneliness—shrouded in clouds of sorrow and mist—out of the black quagmire, and then watches helplessly as loneliness breaks free from his hands.
Just a thematic essay required by the teacher after studying One Hundred Years of Solitude, I suppose
Recorded on January 27, 2022