You know, we're very different people. That's become increasingly apparent over the last few weeks. When you feel lonely, you go out and meet strangers. You let the rhythm and the cocktails carry you away, and dance for dear life. You draw energy and life (though perhaps not happiness) from the crowd, the thrill of being in contact with so many bodies. When you get home, you collapse on the couch, too tired to walk ten more steps to your bed and take off your sequined dress and tall boots.

I have no such compulsion. I sit at home, playing with the old cat and not speaking for hours. My escapes must be imagined, perhaps into a book or a film or a game; if I left the house, it would only increase my feeling of being alone.

I don't know how you do it. Sometimes I envy your ability to walk away from this little place and come back ready to sleep soundly. Other times, I see the bruises on your arms from your fellow crowd-seekers and feel safer in my armchair.

Not saying one is better than the other. We're just different, is all. I'm glad you're here. It makes things less lonely.