Loneliness is a little secret we carry in us, around us, and on us. It's on our skin, on our eyelashes, and painted on our nails. It's closest to us, grows as we do, and changes shape: sometimes, a cold clutter around our neck, and at other times, a warm shawl softly draped around our shoulders. What does our loneliness, singlehood, and solitude look like? Can we see ourselves in each other, when alone?