Dron

Born on 20 November 199X in the northeastern part of Europe, in the capital of the Republic of Estonia. Completed his secondary education at the 45th Gymnasium of the Estonian capital. Lives in his homeland. Not married, no children, not engaged, not in a civil partnership. Did not die. Yet.

Loneliness is a funny thing, ain't it? You find yourself drowning in a sea of people, yet you're the only shipwreck. It's like living in a world where everyone speaks a language you don't understand, and your attempts at communication fall on deaf ears. You're stuck in a glass box, tapping on the walls, but no one can hear you, and you can't break out. Some folks, they try to show what's bubbling inside, but it's like they're talking in code, and the world doesn't have the decoder ring. Maybe it's fear, or maybe it's just a lack of vocabulary. They're stuck in a silent scream, desperately trying to translate their feelings into a language that others can comprehend. But, you see, understanding ain't as easy as it sounds. So, you put on this mask, this facade of normalcy, hoping that someone will see through the act and reach out. But they don't. Instead, they buy into the performance, applaud your role as the cheerful jester, and you're left wondering if anyone will ever see the person behind the mask.

Everything ends sooner or later.

And here's the kicker – when you don't know how to wear your heart on your sleeve, when you can't express the storms raging inside, people assume you're okay. They figure if you ain't shouting about your pain, then it must not exist. It's like being trapped in a silent movie, and everyone around you has forgotten how to read subtitles. So, what do you do? You start building walls, thick and impenetrable. You convince yourself that solitude is your salvation, that the fortress you've constructed will shield you from the confusion and misunderstanding. "I'm better off alone," you mutter like a mantra, as if pushing people away is a cure for the ailment of not being understood. But, let me tell you, that fortress becomes your prison. The isolation that was supposed to be your refuge turns into a desolate wasteland. You look around, and there's no one to share your victories with, no one to console you in defeat. The emptiness echoes louder than any conversation you've ever had.

And then comes the day when you realize that maybe, just maybe, being a lone wolf ain't all it's cracked up to be. You start missing the warmth of connection, the simple joy of being heard and understood. You crave it like water in a desert, but your well is dry, and you're too damn proud to admit you need help. You look back at the bridges you burned, the relationships you let wither, and it hits you – you traded genuine connection for a solitary illusion of strength. You let the fear of being misunderstood dictate your choices, and now you're paying the price.

The irony, my friend, is that you never appreciated the beauty of shared moments until they became memories. Love, friendship, understanding – you took it all for granted. You thought you were invincible, immune to the need for human connection. But now, as you stand alone in the wreckage of your self-imposed exile, you realize how wrong you were.

You try to drown out the silence with distractions – work, hobbies, anything to keep the deafening quiet at bay. But the distractions only work for so long, and when the noise fades away, you're left alone with your thoughts, with the nagging feeling that something vital is missing from your life.