It is a primal thing, this emotion. It comes from the very marrow of the soul. It rises up, clawing at the throat in which it is confined, straining, screaming to get out.

The throat burns, eyes sting, the hole in the heart widens.

A primal thing. A deep-seated thing, that one is unable to escape.

It comes suddenly. A result of the most inoccent happenings.

It chokes and chokes, overwhelming, overpowering. It chokes, as a snake does its prey.

Tears glitter on lashes, diamond drops catching the light, falling delicately, caressing soft cheeks.

Sobs are stifled, as the monster tries to claw its way out, to reveal itself in the words that are formed on the tongue. It is a constant battle, to supress...or to rip it all open.

And it continues to deepen, spreading through every limb, every vein, permeating every inch. The hole widens until it is an abyss, and there is naught but numbness.

There it stays, unwilling to dissipate.

No matter how hard one tries, it grows larger and larger-this emptiness-until every day is a struggle to crest the growing waves of loneliness.

For it is a primal, deep-seated thing, this loneliness.

It takes and takes, and gives nothing back.