He has considered weeping, only
he can’t even bring himself to
take a stab at it. He just can’t cry–
it is terrible to cry
when you’re by yourself, because
what then?
Nothing is solved,
nobody comes;
even solitary children understand. This
apparent respite, apparent quenching
of the need to be befriended
might (much like love in later years) leave you
lonelier than when you were merely alone?