I like writing, but I'm not sure if I'm really any good at it yet.


It was such a terrible feeling. It threatened to eat you from the inside out, to consume everything you ever were or could be.

But it was what brought us together.

Sometimes I didn't mind being alone too much. Sometimes it was unbearable. Usually the latter. But I'd gotten used to seeking out company.

I hadn't really had anyone to raise me properly. Most of the village I was born in took part in it, but not like they would their own children. Maybe because I was different. Though most would be happy to talk to me or play with me for a bit.

But then I met her.

When we first met, she was alone, too. She was crying. It was why I stopped to see.

Her parents had decided to punish her by sending her to her room, to be alone, and to think about what she'd done to deserve this punishment.

But she hated it.

It was common ground. It was why we started talking. It was why we kept talking.

She was lonelier than I was. The solitude was unbearable for her.

But I was here now. We were together.


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