If I have a soul.

A week of sporadic grappling with the urgently irrelevant. Going home now. Coming back again next month for another week. How is it possible, there's so much around me to contradict this feeling, yet it's daily. So alone in this universe? No, not all day, the sensation comes then leaves, the disconnected sense can last for hours, an alien malaise with no other symptom beyond heartache. Feeling alone in a crowd as they say, strolling the day invisibly, or straying about with no purpose, but in pain, inverted screams implode between normal thoughts, but it's not important now who goes nuts or who survives, when you're down to the tens and fives of your rationality, the constellations say it all, wheeling above you in plain encrypted sight, too far off to dispute. How is it possible, if I have a soul is it vacant, does someone return in time? Hoping so, as alone in this universe seems vainly focused anyway. You'll say, but what about family, dearest friends, neighbors and workmates, what about everyone we know, and our beloved critters? Certainly we're not alone, as convincing as the illusion becomes, long as we stay calm, even as rebellions of thought attempt to overthrow the most basic prayers. Never a good time to panic. Going home now. I'll be back again next month for a week, mom's cursed dementia will likely be worse, I know.