It's like some kind of syrup, what we have in our loneliness. Our human sap.
Not the tree kind, which is arguably tasty when processed properly; it takes some time and work and a little somethin' somethin' (sugar, duh), to get that sap to be sweet... but we aren't talking about pancakes here, we are talking about being quiet and alone and lonely in the quiet of ourselves. That is where the sap of us sits.
All the thoughts that make silence so hard when lonely and alone, they repeat themselves so we repeat distraction on ourselves; our consciousness. But the voice we run from would better be cultivated if it were embraced and heard. Those silent, quiet, sticky fears tuck in corners and fill up voids, waiting to expand and consume our identity. Our sappy syrupy goodness.
To embrace the fear is to know one's self. To conquer.