He was oddly attached to the place, the chipped off paint, the broken window sill, the noisy fan, the tripping lights; it was all a part of his everyday existence. He is not a loner, nor is he living in solitude, but the silence that engulfed him soothes him, gives him content. Others say this is not a ‘nice’ place to be in, that he is being a fool staying here, but after some time, those people also silenced away.
He could hear voices down the road- the passing of cars, the chatter of the neighbourhood ladies, crying of the baby next door- but he still enjoyed the silence around him. Or maybe, just maybe, he had just become accustomed to the silence, it had become a habit to hear nothing.
He looks out for people to help him, to understand him, to listen to his rantings. Many even tried to hear him out, but he pushed them away. He pushed them to such an extent they felt it was better to go away. And now, when he needed them the most, he could not associate with them, and they could not associate with him.
He’s not a loner, but just a person who wanted to be away from the hustle of life but in the path to that, he lost out on so many people. People who meant the world to him, the one’s who cared for him, he lost them all. He just wanted some time, but instead was left alone, to live alone, to care on his own, to fight for himself.
And that scared him.