I was always the loneliest immediately after leaving your house, walking down your street towards the baker and the sandwich shop with the terrible coffee. I got lonely because I knew that we were lonely, and I got the inkling that I was just filling the space, warming your bed, making your skin prickle and pink. I left lonely because I knew I do not hold majority of your thoughts; there was the wondering what else you'd like in a girl, probably, or even just consumed by all the things you are trying to become.
No room. You found no room for me.
We stayed because we can pretend for a while that there’s nowhere else that we’d rather be, instead of the reality: there was nowhere else nicer right then where we could be. We would smile and make nice and say the right things that you say that feel warm when they roll out of your mouth and onto the other person's face. We didn't ask for anything, especially not what we needed.
Maybe we are most lonely when we are the least ourselves.