Isolated. Cut away from everyone, yet again. She sits on the cold, green bench, letting her muscles twitch uncomfortably against the bars.
She has no refuge. No safe space of her own. The walls she calls her room are a prison, the world of work a labyrinth of social barbed-wire. Even the once quiet streets are filled with the dull roar of road noise, until she's left with nothing again.
Her phone is quiet, filled with delivered messages unanswered, no calls to be had tonight. She knows as soon as someone- anyone- answers, she won't feel this crushing hollowness in her chest, this diseased longing for touch and comfort. But for now, she sits, her legs no longer twitching from the mile she's already walked, dreading what is to come.
Then it comes. The phone rings, her face brightens, and she continues her walk, a bounce in her step, a light in her eyes. Hours and hours she talks, until yet again she must slip back into the uncomfortable silence that is ringing out around her. She made it to her destination. She's done her work. And now, like she's done for weeks now she must go back to the confines of her room, the plain white walls suffocating, enclosing her in its crushing confines.
She shambles to the bed, only smiling sadly when her joy, her sweet kitty comes to meow and demand pets. She pets him as she reclines back, laying down on the old mattress. And then she lets the tears flow silently as she drifts to sleep.
