Lonely or not?

I deny my loneliness, not because I am not forlorn, just because I have been so resistant, so much happy with my loneliness that I merely take it as a bitter truth. To be alone, to be strong, that is what I have made myself to believe. Shielded myself, so much secure in the armor of individual existence that I can barely reach out to connect. Connect to any other half. Maybe it is because I assume myself not as any half, but a concrete, whole self. That is in itself complete, has no pieces to fix, no colors to add, and no shimmer to brighten. It might be perfectly perfect, with just a little soul in here, not knowing what is going on around. And for whose sake would I opt to know, how other halves are! Why would I be concerned? Is there any reason for me to show my affection to any cold blooded being. Anyone would consider this as my remorse, but truly, I have no grudges to hold on to. The congruency between my exterior self and my soul has made me believe that my belief in fact is impeccable. I have no any devoir to be concerned, concerned of things that are in fact of least concern to me. As the scientific definition of matter puts light to the fact that, it is something that occupies space and has mass, so goes it with emotional mien. Not a thing, be it living or dead, would be something that matters, or in simple sense of the term matter at all, if it fails to occupy that space in our lives, or have any weight in our thoughts. That’s how the cyclical mechanism has to go. I have assumed, or let me put it clear, known in fact, everything in this globe, in one way or the other, sooner or later, proves to be cynical. That sardonic self, which either takes somebody else’s strength or their weakness to achieve its motive, is in real doing nothing new and contemptuous, he is just completing the chain. The chain that has no end, a complete fullerene, real intact, compact! And the more ironical part of it all is, the ubiquitous scorn, the one that everyone is bound to get away with, once they enter the vicious circle of cynicism. There, then finally all of us, convince ourselves that, all this time we had been on our own, and this life time was not worth all those beings. Those beings and those things that disrupted the privacy of our soul, the peace of our meditation, and then we conclude, after all this life is a play worth of every price. Price, high or low, and with a guaranteed time of solitude, mistaken almost every time for loneliness! And i feel, loneliness is just another diction, that we easily replace for our sole existence!