My lonely conscience ebbs at me for not enjoying the rosy school life many children and teenagers are having currently. It wonders if my friends are truly there for me, or if they are really just using me. But I remind myself that these people are puzzle pieces to the big picture, to the big image of who I really am and who I really shall be. My time of true loneliness had passed, and I have emerged into a stronger era of understanding others, such as my friends and academic counterparts, who may not have embraced the loneliness in their hearts. The price I paid for understanding myself and others was my childhood social life, which I determined in the long run was just a simple fraction of my life; a mere blink. To my depressed friends, this price I have paid confuses them, as they do not know if they should cry at my loneliness or rejoice in the support I am able to give them.

To me, the conscience of a man who does not understand loneliness is empty and without a deeper, philosophical meaning. They do not have the ability to understand their deeper regrets and passions without the interference of their social interactions.

Comparable to those who suffer from depression, I am not always lonely. I do achieve the whole feeling of friendship when I am surrounded by my friends. However, when placed in a large group of people, I feel I might as well be the one puzzle piece that does not fit correctly.

But this definition does not truly ‘define’ me as a character. I am me; I am colorful, bright, excitable, loving. But I am also lonely. Tired. Caustic. Like flowers in a meadow, there will always be a flower wilting.