In every crowd big or small there is always a person sitting alone in a corner not engaging in conversation. This person surrounded by peers, yet isolated, listens to the murmurs of the conversation around him.
They call him a freak, they call him a loser, they speak of him as if he was a thousand miles away or deaf to the words they are speaking.
This kind of isolation eats at the very soul of a man. Tears him up from the inside. His mind rages with contempt for others and himself. He is devalued, demeaned and punished for crimes he did not commit.
This loner, this freak, the one you can not see unless you look for him or her, sobs. He knows many truths yet none listen. None wish to hear.
A plague is he, all must keep their distance or fear they become infected. Stuck in a corner to cry is he.
Yet when asked, no one knows why he is alone, no one knows why they speak of him this way, no one knows him. They do not realize that you must know someone, before you can shun them.
Never cry, never smile, quoth the Raven, nevermore.