Now that I am alone, I can think again.

It is a curious thing that I am most myself when I am by myself, yet, this is when I feel least at ease. Things have reverted to the exact same state that they began in before my exodus – I can’t sleep, I can’t relate to others, I can’t focus in conversation, I find little joy in things, and I’m generally a moody bastard.

But, at least, I can think. I do a lot of thinking – no, brooding – and it accomplishes little.

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