?

I think I'm lonely.

Only, I'm not sure. 

I'm not sad, you see. I can still smile and feel it. And I don't stare at the door all day. I'm not holed up in a room alone or skulking along a wall at a party.

I'm talking, like I always do, like words out of a dam. And I'm hugging and laughing and reading and dancing and all of everything that makes me happy.

But there's this weight where my chest and tummy meet and I think that's what it is.

I think, and think again, stay at my place, instead of joining in.

I work to make my laughter light.

And I talk but I want to talk about more. About what you saw in rorschach's ink instead of what to wear tomorrow.

I don't know what this is but your last text said love you but it made my tongue heavy like the after taste of something you never wanted to eat. And being louder is harder than ever right now that it's being finger pointed at. 

The worst is easily when you want someone to stop talking, for your phone to stop buzzing and the door to stop being knocked because none of it, none of their words are right, are enough.

It's all wrong. 

It's not what I want.

It's not adding up.

Is this what lonely is?