I know exactly how she feels. Lonely. So lonely you start talking to yourself; so lonely you start giving your responses to yourself their own voices that you can distinguish from one another. So lonely you would hug an emotionless object – an ironing board, a pillow shaped like a horse, an alien - just to know you are real, and it is real, and there are two things in the world that are real.
I've been that lonely before. I've gone weeks where the only positive response I've gotten was from the computer screen… or my own head. I know what its like to have your sanity depend on proving to yourself, if no one else, that That voice is real at least, the one that answers you most often. That voice has a physical body somewhere – That voice wasn't made up by you to keep your brain from falling to pieces around you. I know exactly how she feels.
And now I have to wonder if she's just a voice in My head. If we are just two lonely voices answering each other, and no one can tell who is whose imagination trying to save their own sanity.
My sanity comes in the form of a short thin house with a "I 3 Earth" flag that never moves in the breeze; hers may come in the form of a short thin boy with a big head.