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Abigail Higgott

Loneliness is a beaten, battered teddy bear stuck in a cold, grubby charity shop, his only companion the bright silver moon blazing through the greasy, smeared window.

Loneliness is a small, whimpering panda cub in a smoky dirty landfill, which once was his home
Loneliness is a dusty, untouched piano in the corner of a large, grand living room, his keys buckled and broken.

Loneliness is a tall, foggy hill, looming above a lively, bustling town with nothing but a dead oak tree on its surface.

Loneliness is an outdated avocado in the back of the fridge, the one thing that nobody wants.

Loneliness is like my mum, a lost, broken soul with a piece of her life missing, a priceless jewel stolen out of a museum.