In the proper mood, a matter of minutes can make you lonely. Cut out papers and half read books lay scattered along my floor. Burning candles and incense smoke billow out into tiny celestial clouds disappearing into my ceiling. Is this my heaven or is this my haven? Hiding behind books is a specialty of mine, peeping into others people's romances to forget the absence of my own. Great, a Jane Austin class. Just what I need. I don't mean to say I don't have a life. I have plenty of other ways of forgetting monotony. I try to jazz things up as much as possible at all costs. It's these little moments, these tiresome ticking hours after days with smiling rambunctious faces, that remind me we are all inevitably alone. In the proper mood, anything can make me lonely. All the silly words and smiling faces cannot peep into my mind. Perhaps that is why, in moments such as these, I write.