Every face turned away from every other face, coldly in their respective rooms. I sometimes wonder if even the luvvy-duvvy couples smooching on parkbenches can understand each other in even the remotest way, i wonder if such an understanding is possible. Or is it just the cold collision of alabaster statues accidentally, cold marble on cold marble, frigid flesh and heartless clay.
At moments of clarity like these i realise that my friends and companions are not just few in number, but that they are non-existent, that i am a lonely speck lost in a sea of lonely specks, each of us anguished and confused, bumping into one another, stumbling, mumbling, but never once communicating anything worthwhile. It's as if i go out in the morning onto the street and find it filled with plastic shop-window dummies who at intervals drop electronic, pre-programmed words from their frozen mouths, their eyes locked-in on something far away and hopelessly artificial. Their human souls have been swept away or lurk frightened within them, as does mine.