There's something to be said about being alone in the world, or perhaps there really isn't. Alone is alone is alone. You stand solitary, shuddering, shuddering at your desperation- that jagged stone in the pit of your stomach reminding you of how hungry you are. Or how empty. But how more nauseated and empty, really.

Looking at the hot, white-washed world of sunshine and concrete. Metallic cars whizzing past with harried mothers driving and barely surviving the unrelenting cries of kids who want this, that, everything and nothing. You're looking in alone and breathing. One monolithic You. Or? Realizing that none of this may be real. That all of this may have nothing or everything to do with you. That your very presence and/importance in this world is questionable at best. And that when you finally disappear, you suddenly see how you weren't even really there.