Good person, bad things.

I am always alone.

Even if I go to College and later to work, even if I'm surrounded by a million of people on the streets or in the subway in New York.  I'm always alone.

Today also feel alone .

I 've come home after a particularly hard day, and obviously there no one was waiting for me.
Nobody had outstretched arms waiting to welcome me.
Today I feel empty except for the micro  universe of anguish that expands each day a little bigger in my chest. Today it hurts.Today I really longed for a warm, loving and protective arms around me. A soft voice with the utopic promise that everything will be better (I'm terrified of the possible options to get worse ).

Today it wouldn't have mattered to me who had had those arms, that voice: a lover, a friend, some of the filthy boarding school, the stupid fellow of High School, some unbearable client, my MOTHER, or even my father. Had given me equal.

Today I'd had phoned anyone just to hear any voice but checking my contact list I realized that my best option was the emergency service.

I have shrunk in the middle of the bed and I covered with the duvet which has drawn the outline of my body. I know I'm here because I see the quilt bent over my body. But I feel so empty... for me my skin is just that border, that shell containing nothing inside to prevent dispersal and real and finally disappears. Will I have any valve as beach balls to uncover it and deflate myself to completely disappear? Maybe this way I'd find peace, so maybe I can finally rest. Or rather, my conscience vanish and with it the memories, the pain ...