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My Pet Mouse

Loneliness is an odd feeling. It's hard to put into words. It's like the mouse that hides itself away under your kitchen cabinets. You see it a few times, and every time you do you scream with horror. You walk on your toes trying to avoid it at all costs. It creeps up on you as you feel the hairs of its back brushing up against your calves. And sometimes it's real, but most of the time the feeling is living in your head. You don't see it for a while. Or at least don't notice it. But even after months of false encounters, it seems to reappear out of nowhere . But somehow, you accept it now. Take it in as your own. You don't fear it any longer. I feel my loneliness when ambulance sirens pass by my window at 2am and they act as a comfort. They are no longer an annoyance keeping me from my somber, but instead they act as a soundtrack to my insomnia. To be truly alone is when the whole room becomes intolerably loud and unbelievably quiet all at once. You start to notice the noise of a traveling fan, the engine of a motorcycle, the drunken laughs of rowdy men standing on street corners. And soon it all becomes part of the background. The noise is obscenely prominent, but yet, doesn't quite exist at all. And as I sit up in bed, I watch people in their windows from my windows as they make a journey to the kitchen, opening fridges in hopes to find their late night snacks. The ice cream they promised themselves they wouldn't have, but their loneliness craves Carvel's ice cream cake at two in the morning. Their loneliness craves McDonald's french fries when the sun begins to wake up. And I watch them and direct my eyes towards the drawers of my desk. Drawers filled with lighters and markers and oversized bottles of Tylenol. And I laugh to myself. I find it amusing how death patiently waits for me. Death sits in my desk drawer disguising itself as a bottle of pills, pain relievers. And I don't want to die, I know I don't. But sometimes, on nights like these, as the shadows of high college students find their way through the crack of light hidden beneath my door, I wonder when I will be brave enough to open the drawer.

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