Isn’t it strange how you can be surrounded by people but still feel like you’re the only person in this world?
No man is an island, they say.
That’s not true.
The island is the person who sits at the cafe, sipping coffee and enjoying the quiet solitude.
The island is the person who has meals alone every evening, pining for the lover they lost.
The island is the person who is marginalized by friends, family, colleagues, classmates. The bullied, the downtrodden.
The island is the homeless man on the street, who lost his job and his family after battling years of addiction.
The island is me, a 20-something adult who appears to have it together, but deep inside feels a sense of deliberate loneliness, even though many have tried to reach deep into the depths of my empty soul.
A soul devoid of any true companionship.
The island is everybody.
Every man is an island.