When you go to sleep, you hear your neighbour arguing with his wife through the wall. He wants her to become a dancer, and she wants to sleep for a thousand centuries. You wish you had someone to argue with.
You live on a planet that is covered by a city, and the city has nine trillion inhabitants, and if you repeatedly bump into one of them, then you know that the city has chosen for you.
This is a mystical belief. The city bureaucrats insist that they do no choosing. They insist that the world is cruel and meaningless, and they say the only order is that which arises from a rigidly logical mind.
A-way, A-way, A-way. Some say the world will go on and on, extending into the foreverness, but you don't believe it.
In the meantime, you know that you are lonely.