Over time, my loneliness began to manifest itself as a physical sensation. As it advanced upon my very being, I found it characterized not by the relative emptiness of the environments in which I reside at any given time, but by an ever-present void which resides in me. Imagine this void as a black hole of sorts, into which my figurative heart endlessly descends. Meanwhile, my literal heart beats more and more softly, failing to effectively assert a liveliness in me, pantomiming the lifelessness I feel. What solace I do take in the fleeting, fortunately dilated periods wherein the tapping of my heart is set to pounding by some chemically-derived influence. I am thankful that I can escape myself with relative ease these days, but find discontent and dissatisfaction in the inevitability of returning home to nothing.

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