Soliloquy.

This is a conscious observation. People are leaving. In numbers more than ever. They escape from my life into oblivion, merging into the faceless streams of the daylife. They leave, without leaving trace. The disappointment has thrust itself into consciousness, and now it sits as the elephant in the room. No, it isn’t a heartache. This heart never vied for so much attention. But the elephant is wrung out into a vague numbness: not the maudlin tragic but a blighted despondence nonetheless. Not lonely – for somehow I have adapted – but a poignant reflection, a emotion of distance, which ponders upon questions – why promises were made and forgotten. Was a love, a companionship ever there. Were things rounding back to the same days again, when you had no one to tell them that you loved them, and no one to tell you. There are few answers set in stone. They are printed and effaced with the ebb and flow of these musings. So, people are leaving. There is no motivation to call out most of them. There are attempts, oft repeated, to confront the remaining few. All in all, there is no purpose in this soliloquy. A deep breath, a sigh, spells the end of it.

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