We are possessed of the tools which might guarantee we are never alone, yet we all lament in silence. Our solitude comes when we are at our weakest, while our friends embrace us only when we are at our best. We are all fragile and afraid of being broken like some small porcelain doll. And so we lock ourselves behind glass, that none might ever lay a finger on that most precious possession so central to our lives. It is safe, without pain, but also filled with suffering, because that glass separates us from those we care most for. It is only an act, that we falsely claim to be happy, because behind that glass, there is nothing. Only ourselves and the inevitable darkness and fear that reside in the heart of a hermit. Loneliness is not mitigated with age, it is amplified, so that one day it may drive us mad. And in our frenzied state, we shatter the glass cage we meticulously built around ourselves and run headlong into the world, driven by fear, madness, desire, and the all-powerful realization that we are mortal. Death will come for us as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, and we fear to face that Death alone. Soon, we are even afraid to watch the sun rise on another day of being alone. It is a black hole that eats away at our minds, hearts, and souls, leaving naught but an empty husk in its wake. Broken, alone, and barred by glass from the rest of the world it so craved to be part of, but refused to let in. We all know this, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. And yet we still hide behind glass. Even those who shatter their cage are faced with the glass cages of others, which look so fragile, so beautiful, that we haven't the heart to break them ourselves. And so we again build up our walls, embracing the darkness and solitude that chew at us, slowly devouring us from the inside. It is our salvation and ruination. Our crib and our coffin. Because we are afraid of hurting others, afraid to be hurt by others, or too arrogant to admit that we need them.