Longing for connection. . .

I sit on my porch, staring out at the city lights, pondering the idea that I live in the midst of thousands of other souls- yet I feel so utterly alone and lost.
I don't really care if anyone else ever reads this. . . .I usually assume that no one does. I just write on here to get the words out of my mind. Sometimes I wish someone would hear me (or read me, in this case), and resonate with my restless soul and respond.
Doesn't everyone in the world long for some kind of connection, to be heard and seen and understood? I don't even understand myself most of the time.
I'm not being the most articulate here, but I don't care.
No one ever wrote a rule book or prescribed any kind of possible ideas for life after college, or life in this ambiguous state of in between youth and adulthood. It seems to me that adulthood is already a pretty solitary experience, with poets and authors as my only companions at times. I read the great deceased poets, Neruda, Eliot, Whitman, hoping that they will give voice to that which is voiceless, yet restless, within me. Perhaps they might awaken my own writer's voice, as if my words, and their haphazard semblance thereof, might validate my meager existence.

I used to have some strange ideals about changing the world, or working for the good of society, but now that seems rather lost to me. It was so easy to discuss and dialogue about those ideas when I was in the setting of a classroom or college forum, where most people agreed or had considered similar concepts. But now, HOW DO I LIVE IT OUT? I have no fucking clue.

Is there anyone out there who reads this. . .and somewhat understands?

It's strange, in my lifetime, there have been so many new advances in communication technology: cell phones, internet, emails. But it only seems to make one's solitude more acute- to have those possibilities of connection, but they hold nothing.
Seeking connection with another human being seems futile at times. . . .

But these are just my thoughts, late at night, in the darkened city. . . .