For the past month, I’ve been alone. The vice grip of loneliness strikes suddenly and without remorse. Sometimes it’s when I have a funny thought and no one to entertain. Sometimes it’s when I’m watching a movie and there isn’t a chest to fall into. And sometimes it’s when I’m completely surrounded by people and I realize not a single soul knows my name. What’s funny is that I’ve gone almost two decades without ever feeling this kind of torture before. I remember damning the possibility of becoming lonely. The idea of being alone was so foreign and bizarre. Sometimes I saw it at bus stops in the rain or in restaurant booths occupied by a single, hunched frame. What’s funny is that my idea of loneliness is still cliched. I didn’t realize you could be lonely while wearing a pretty dress on a sunny day.