ISN'T IT LOVELY???. - by Nomshu Writes✨

Isn’t It Lovely??? Solitude sits quietly in my mind.Still. Patient. Familiar.Isn’t it lovely to be all alone?To sink into the high walls I built myself brick by careful brick until the outside world feels like a rumor. I scroll endlessly through glowing screens, my thumb moving without purpose, drowning the silence with sad songs and cheap distractions. The music presses against my ears like a hand trying to comfort me, but it never quite does.Isn’t it lovely???I used to think solitude meant peace.Something gentle. Something quiet but warm.But somewhere along the way my mind confused solitude with sadness, wrapped them together so tightly I can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. What I call “being alone” is sometimes just loneliness wearing a softer name.And yet I pretend.I pretend that being the quiet one in the corner is cool.That the kid with the earbuds in and the distant eyes is mysterious, self-contained, unbothered. Like I chose this silence.But the truth is far less cinematic.Sometimes the quiet is just heavy.I have three friends three real ones and I hold onto them like fragile glass because somewhere deep down I know how easily people disappear. How quickly rooms empty. How fast conversations fade into nothing.So I sit with my thoughts instead.They echo loudly in the hollow spaces of my mind, bouncing against those walls I built so carefully. Walls meant to protect me, but now they feel taller every day, like a prison designed by my own hands.Isn’t it lovely.To look strong on the outside.Independent. Self-sufficient. Untouchable.And yet inside there is this quiet ache that never quite leaves. The kind you carry around like a shadow. The kind that makes nights stretch endlessly long.I’m not the type to end things.Not the tragic ending kind.No.I’m the kind that stays.The kind that wakes up every morning and quietly continues. The kind that smiles when spoken to, nods along in conversations, laughs when it’s expected. The kind that suffers politely, silently, without disturbing anyone.Maybe that makes me strange.Maybe I’m the odd one.Or maybe there are more of us than we realize people lying awake at night staring at the ceiling while their thoughts grow louder in the dark.Like she once wrote, “Tears, idle tears.”Or maybe it was something like that.All I know is this:Sometimes my pillow is damp with tears I don’t remember crying.Sometimes sadness arrives without knocking.And in the quiet of my room I wonder Why am I crying?I don’t even know.But the silence does.And it stays with me.Isn’t it lovely??? .

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