Through the window next to the couch I have taken to sleeping on
I can see the odd car pass down the lonely, lamp-less street I live on
And on my computer screen a twelve year old prodigy plays continuously
On a YouTube playlist, all night his fingers gently pull the metal strings of the guitar
And in the rooms of my house are seven other bodies breathing in and out, in and out
Of dreams and consciousness, bodies waiting to rise with the sun
And in the midst of all this humanity, being alone is an impossibility,
The question remains: is being lonely?
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