Nobody knows me better than my solitude, and how she cares for me so. She allows my inner strength and passion to echo, around the room first, then out the window or the tiniest of slits in the door and she echoes off into the night. It is a warmth that many will never know. Those who rely on the company of others, who depend on having bodies around them, who fail to see the glory and wonder of loneliness and its help in the development of the self.
Once you can look after yourself, feed yourself, wash, clean your home, organise your days to a relatively effective point, feel the purpose of the meaningless time passing by, move through a room with a smile on your face, whether it is empty or filled with other bodies, corpses, vessels, you can cope with what the world can throw at you. The inner strength can see us through difficult times, fight off the demons, because a shell forms around us and protects and keeps the warmth in. The need to have someone stood at the side, to reassure us be it falsely or not is no solution to the problems life throws us, it seems to me to be a lie.
I am alone again. The silence crashes upon me. Yes, the building and the residents I share it with make sounds and so do the walls and the pipes and the electrical devices, but I can swallow this relative peace whole and write and relax and blow kisses to the heavens that I can cope with it all, that I have a choice about how I accept things, about how they make me feel, about how I think and live and breathe each breath.
Beautiful Solitude, you own me for now.
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