Oh those metal spoons

Loneliness tastes like that chintzy metal spoon often found in diners.  You've been intimately acquainted with this type of spoon.  It's the type that you rub with the white paper napkin to see if it's dirty or just really that dull.

The aftertaste lingers long after the spoon has left your mouth; even the thought of the spoon can make the tinny taste return.  You go so far as to brush your tongue and rinse your mouth with industrial-strength mouthwash to rid yourself of the taste yet the metallic notes still resonate on the palate.

Loneliness is powerfully evocative, too. That feeling of isolation remains even after companionship has been achieved. 

Loneliness is often stealthy; it tip-toes into our souls unnannounced. Even in moments of great joy we glance it from the corner of our eye as it floats past.  Then it stings us--sharp, stabbing, needle-like pain delivered to our souls with surgical precision.  If we're lucky it moves on.  Finds another victim.  However, sometimes it's brash; loneliness stomps into our psyches and takes up residence like an uninvited house guest.  It even wants us to fluff the pillows and pay the rent.

I want to evict this feeling, but I don't know how.

Actually, that's a lie.  I do know how; I'm just powerless to do so.