I do not know what loneliness feels like.

Alone, oh yes, all alone in the muggy heat that coats your arms in a thick blanket of sweat.
All alone in the middle of a dark, dark night.
Alone in the midst of a deep blue ocean.

Alone, but not lonely. Because there I am.
Here are my hands, here are my feet. There's my heart beating its steady reminder that I am, I am, I am.
How am I alone if I am here?
There's no way to spin this yarn inside out so that you may read it from where you are, which is, not who I am, of course.

Here are my thoughts, loud and splendid. Each clamouring to be heard, to be thrown into the front line of mental deliberation. Each with its individual tone and lilt, rise and fall. Here are my thoughts.
And here are my emotions, weighted. Mattering even though it doesn't matter.
Here are the little bits of knowledge garnered throughout the day, flickering like friendly lightning bugs, quick as lightning. Psychological continuity, derivatives, Piaget and his snails.

So am I ever lonely?

Yes. But never when I am alone. 

I am lonely when I look through the blank face of a not-so-kindred soul. When I am tossing my sentiments sky-high only to watch them fall flat because no one catches them. Then, I am lonely. Frolicking in a garden with frozen gnomes.
I am lonely when I speak of love, because then we cannot speak of the same thing. How can we? 'Never the same love twice'.
I am lonely when you laugh but all I have to offer is tears.
I am lonely when I am not alone.