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I used to enjoy being alone. Alone with my books, with my music, with my films, with myself. Now, there isn't a place nor objects that give me that sense of comfort I had for some moments in my life. Very few, I might add. Now, with my books and personal things scattered in many nooks and crannies, I feel at home around people. People who shares smiles, optimism and jokes. Not many people. Just some people. People who don't remind me of this feeling of emptiness lingering inside. Mostly strange people who can't ask disturbing questions.