On A Distant Shoreline She Waves An Arm At Me

When you are alone, you are pretty much silent. And when you have come to terms with your quiet solitude, you realise that your silence is a collective conscience. There are indeed many quiet stuff around you. The trees in the nightshade. The molten glow clinging onto streetlamps. The breathless basketball courts and soccer fields under the stars. The sea to the sands and the buried seashells. The car parks. The empty schools. The blinking red men in traffic lights at four in the morning. The swings in the playground, probably weeping with the earlier rain. The books in the cage of the dark stores, one stacked among the thousands of others. The little animals and insects attempted to hide out from the night's cold. A cough. Your shoes shuffle in the dark as you contemplate stuff like these. Your thoughts are with you.

Hence, you are not alone.