Cold Hot Chocolate

My hot chocolate was given to me cold.

My entire existence has lead to this moment.

I am mournful for what could have been, mournful for the future I was never fortunate enough to receive.

Pondering into the vast nothingness, I reflect on how we credit our own suffering as more important than another’s.

Then again, how could we ever begin to understand another’s misfortune?

For we know the stars and the sea are separated by a vast horizon, and yet, from our vantage point, even the ocean bleeds into the atmosphere.

So as I sit here, my hot chocolate an oxymoron in name and state, I search for understanding in our world.

I search for a deeper meaning, something to believe in, something to hold, tangible or in spirit alone.

And yet, I find nothing.

We are all suffering in our own ocean, our own atmosphere, blurred together into a beautiful, orchestrated suffering.

We are not alone in our experience of loneliness.

We are simply alone.