Summary: We’re a generation of lonely souls amidst a million neighbors. We want bochinche, we want a savior From what we call “mundane” but is really just us with us, You with you, me with me. Nothing thrills like feeling in the center of it all. The fringe now just chopped liver, expired, and forgotten, Mob mentality is chic, always has been, now more than ever. The fear of alone hitting a pitch of fever. It all leads us to agreeing with things we don’t care much for, Finely tuned to our neighbor’s choices, a quick sideways glance for safety As if back in grade school cheating our way into a higher score. Hoping to not be weird, hoping to not be alone. It’s all fine and dandy, connecting is precious and exciting And is what we were put here to do until the end of days. But skipping the moments of loneliness makes bonding harder, How can you know your voice if it’s always drowned by chatter. Next time your mind is on an island cherish the conversation, Forego swimming to the nearest crowd in a panic, listen to the one for a bit Then notice how easy it is to associate with the world after this. The cloud of anxiety towards solitude evaporated and dismissed.
