Loneliness is not defined in solitude, but in the company of strangers who are called friends.  When companions most intimate are more to be feared than mortal enemies one is truly alone. What is life’s blood at the cost of a slaughtered heart? Feelings must be concealed, for they slash like double-edged daggers. They drip with the gore of our most beloved, and with our own. We were made for each other, yet we tear each other apart. This is the price of life together, ever seeking, never quite finding that which we crave. Can hope be found in such carnage? Yes, but one cannot obtain it by force. Love is found in sacrifice.