Being alone is sublime, but being alone is melancholy. When you are alone, you have a temporary feeling of being hidden in your own happiness. You give yourself the chance to focus on yourself and no one else. Even though you still have the benefits of having luxuries in life, you can spend time with yourself whenever you want. Lonely people lead happy, bright lives. They have great friends, perfect families and excel at everything they do. They are lonely because they enjoy the comfort of focusing on themselves in their own skin; their well-being. When you are alone, you desire gratitude. You are so despondent about your miserable life that the only thing you think about is something bright miraculously appearing in your life. You are sitting in a heap of your own despondency; your thoughts of unhappiness cloud your actions and sense of thought. When you're alone, you wish you could be alone. You wish you could enjoy the isolation. Every night at 10pm I would lie down on my double mattress and listen to the sound of the bar door slamming shut, as if the person who had locked the place was in a raging rage every night. At 10.01pm that bar was empty of people and emotions. He was alone, all alone, and while he had company during the day, he could have fun all night long. I remember when I was alone. When I lived two miles south of Harlem, I had a strange tendency to do these things, to lie down and listen to the noises people made. I was fascinated by the fact that people were capable of making noises for everyone to hear. It helped reassure me that people were moving in the world, while everything inside me felt calm and still. Every night at 10pm......half of the paper......ngings; from “Bill,” my stuffed dog, to my three pairs of jean shorts. I went back outside only to see the woman standing in the exact same position she was in before I went to gather my things. “I'm ready,” I said, “let's go home.” making the right decision, but at that moment I felt like I had to escape my loneliness. I couldn't let an opportunity like this pass me by. My mother was letting me in. She was ready to build a relationship with me. My aunt Lily refused to pay attention to me. I had friends and a future planned in New York. I had nothing in Whitney, Massachusetts. I made the right decision to return home. That evening at 10pm I lay down on my double mattress and listened to the sound of the bar door slamming shut. At 10.01pm that bar was empty of people and emotions. He was alone, just like I was.