Elegiac is a liar.
It tells me that it should be my only companion.
That I am alone.
Even in the midst of friends or in the arms of my lover, I am the hollow man. There is no warm heart beating inside my bone chested cage.
I exist in the land of numb.
How quickly the lie of being alone is compounded by other untruths until I am spinning, sliding down the slippery slope, in tune to the grinding chuckling of this wraith at my ear.
It whispers that I am the only one who is broken.
That there are no other hands to hold me or feet to walk with me.
That God does not know me.
That I am not fearfully and wonderfully made.
Until I shut my ears to the mocking beak, look up from myself, and find that I am surrounded by love.