It is in that crowded, noisy place, full of hustle and bustle and purpose, that you can know lonely. To watch your closest friend walk away, suddenly and with little real fanfare, and to smile bravely one last time before they are through the gate and away, that is lonely. To wait around aimlessly for their flight to leave, just to be sure, that is lonely. Children play around you, families huddle together, single travelers look around in patient boredom. You stand at the windows, looking out into the grey evening. Think of anything for distraction. Anything at all.
It doesn't work so well. You miss them already, because it's too quiet. Lonely.
And in the car back, one person short, you can't keep your face from being long, can't save your eyes from being lifeless under a furrowed brow. That is lonely, because it's always easier to leave than to be left.
The silence after a phone call clicks to an end--that, too, is lonely. It's the absence of sound, the empty rush in your ear, the things you now want to say echoing in your head. You'd sit there for many seconds longer than you need to, just wishing, thinking, hoping, longing. Searching for something you can't find anymore, but it used to be right there.
The missing. The old memories you can't recreate or relive or even recall so clearly anymore. The things that go unsaid, the comments you wish so badly you could make, but can't anymore. The empty hiding spots. The deserted hang out places.
They are all lonely.
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