Does anyone else feel this way, or is it just me?

I don’t know if it’s the universe mocking me or just my own fault, but lately, I’ve been feeling like I exist in a space where no one speaks my language. I want to talk—really talk—not about small things, not about the weather or some trending meme, but about the kind of thoughts that keep me awake at night.

I want to sit with someone and discuss the vastness of the cosmos, the paradoxes of time, the strange nature of human consciousness, and why we feel things so deeply even when we wish we didn’t. I want someone who gets why I get lost in the elegance of a well-structured equation or why a single line of poetry can hit harder than reality itself. But every time I try, it’s like throwing words into a void. People either don’t care or don’t understand.

So I keep it all inside. Fill my silence with books, thoughts, and unanswered questions. But what’s the point of understanding if there’s no one to share it with?

Does anyone else feel this way? Or is it just me, talking to the stars, hoping they’ll talk back?