As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Lonely people have enthusiasms which cannot always be explained. When something strikes them as funny, the intensity and length of their laughter mirrors the depth of their loneliness, and they are capable of laughing like hyenas. When something touches their emotions, it runs through them like Paul Revere, awakening feelings that gather into great armies.
To Katie, it was as lonely and secret as any building could be; its size and grandeur meant less to her. She didn’t know or care when the place had been built or by whom, but she sensed it was time-rich. She also sensed, in a part of her mind she still hadn’t made friends with, that it had been, at one time, far more peopled in some way. She sensed movements and changing coolnesses and whispers of histories there that were not from the present. Not ghosts – she didn’t believe in those – but gentle knowings even she didn’t appreciate yet. She sensed she was just one of many who had passed by its walls, across its lawns or through its shadows and lights, and, while that happened, she felt sure the house did more than just stand there. She wondered if it waited. It did not entertain as some did, did not speak as a person would and did not seek answers, yet she sometimes wondered if it had the occasional wish of its own.
―Carla H. Krueger, Sleeping with the Sun