Solitude

Solitude.
You're alone, you live alone, you die alone and you spend all the time in between trying desperately to convince yourself that you're not. You pick your poisons, your delusions. How do you choose to hide the truth?

Do you scurry in the shadows? Taking the company of the other degenerate dwellers of the dark, banding together, comforting one another with sad tales of the misunderstanding and abuses of the rest of the world? And what comfort do you find in that? Does it help you? Does it make you feel somehow closer to the light, without the need of ever having to venture out into it?

Perhaps you find your comfort in the indulgence of the flesh? Fleeting pleasures, easily forgotten, easily replaced. Never get too close... That might require some effort, some commitment, some risk on your part. So you live as a coward and a leech. Take what you can, bleed them dry and then run away before you feel anything, before you have to face yourself and the truth of what you've become.

And what of your belongings, your possessions, the cold, hard love of the inanimate, providing comfort and status while you live out your days on this world. But “live” is a very subjective term, isn't it? You don't live, you simply die slowly, gathering to you, as much as possible in the futile hope that the more you own, the more worthwhile your existence would feel. Then, at the end of your days, all your possessions surrounding you, looking on with the cold indifference of the dead, it all becomes clear. You find your answers just in time to appreciate how wrong you've always been.

Chemicals. Possibly the most amusing of all your veils. Your drinks and your drugs. What's the matter? Are you so conscious of the lie in which you try to live that you need to numb your own mind to the horror of it all? Hiding in your self-induced euphoria, praying that the world doesn't find your dark, little hole, while all the time, the scavengers circle, their razor-blade smiles unseen through the clouds in which you've submerged your senses. Your head is in the sand, but just because you can't see them doesn't mean they can't see you.

Solitude.
Perhaps you do live and die alone. Perhaps, no matter how you crowd yourself with your lies, it will never make any difference. Why, though, bother with the poisons? Hy delude your mind, why convince yourself that life is anything other than what it is?

What can you leave this world with? Dignity, respect, honour and love, not only for yourself, though this is most important, but also for all the other travelers, those that you passed in your journey from cradle to grave. They might never be one with you, and you may be alone despite their presence, but they're also alone. Make their loneliness as bearable as possible, let them do the same for you.

Enjoy, love and live.

Don't ever stop.