When was it,
exactly,
that I started believing people could be
Good
again?
Was it after the
fifth beer?
Or after that shot of
whatever the fuck?
Or maybe it was
some other event,
conversation,
occurrence,
marked by human interaction,
rather than
ostracized gulps
of self-prescribed medication.
Well,
it was definitely before I returned home
alone.
We are all here.
Sharing this life,
this time,
this place.
But the truth is
we are all alone in this world.