Loneliness. Such a common, such a human feeling, yet still powerful enough to turn even silence into a scream.
Everyone feels its weight at some point, but it seems that the monster under the bed has carried that weight since the moment it came into existence.
It lives surrounded by other monsters. It talks to them, laughs with them, and sometimes even forgets about its own sadness. But when night falls and everything becomes quiet, that feeling returns.
It has friends, but it still feels alone.
It has a family, but it still feels like something is missing.
And perhaps that is the worst part: not knowing exactly what is missing.
The monster stares into the darkness, searching for an answer among the shadows. Maybe it has spent so long trying to figure out what was missing inside it that it never realized that some wounds do not need to be filled — they simply need to be acknowledged.
But then comes the question it is afraid to ask:
What is it supposed to do with a loneliness that refuses to go away?