How do you describe a feeling? 

I asked a friend of mine that question, not too long ago. It was an ordinary day, with the sun high in the sky, a few clouds drifting in the light wind, not quite threatening to pour their cargo of rainwater down upon us. The streets were dead quiet, like they always were, with the sounds of birds chirping and idle chatter only existing in my memories. I was holding a basket filled with exactly ninety-nine flowers, no more, and no less. He gave me that look; the one with a raised eyebrow and the half-frown, half-smirk of amusement. 

“A feeling?” He asked back. 

“Yeah. How would you describe it?” 

“You being serious?” 

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes at him. “Yes. I’m being serious.” 

“Alright, alright, geez. Don’t need to be so defensive.” His responses were so familiar, delivered like he was reading from a script he had rehearsed over and over again. 

We kept walking down the path, between the rows of dead trees, planted by people who were no longer around. 

“So?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno. It’s not really something you describe, you know? You just… Feel.” 

“Do you?” 

“Do I what?” 

“Feel?” 

He didn’t answer that question. 

Nobody ever did. 

It didn’t matter, though. I knew the answer already. 

“I know how to describe it,” I said to him.  

“It’s when you reach out, expecting to touch something, but you’re left grasping at the air, not understanding why you can’t find what you’re looking for.  

“It’s when you finally look to see, and when you discover it isn’t there, you go searching.  

“It’s when you’ve searched for days, weeks, months on end, and for some reason, you still can’t find it.  

“It’s when you give up looking and try to move on. 

“Most of all, though, it’s when you can’t.” 

He would have laughed at me. He would have said, “That doesn’t sound like any feeling I’ve felt before.” 

Of course not, silly. It would have been impossible for you to feel it. 

It would have been impossible for any of them. 

I placed his flower on the grave I made for him, and stood up, looking over the other ninety-eight graves yet to receive their flowers. 

I envied them all. 

They never learned what loneliness felt like.