Solitude
Solitude demands attention. Endlessly she questions yesterday’s
choices with unerring vision of consequences and debates reality
for hours whenever given the least provocation. But during
hours of darkness, when Sorrow beckons, Solitude tends to
leave one cold, feeling as if No-One is there.
Still, I love Solitude.
She whispers sweetly in the morning and is the only woman
I’ve ever known to share my love of rising at three to begin
a day yet unborn to others. She makes coffee great. As a muse,
she has no peer; patient and understanding, she offers an
array of possibilities, then sits in soothing silence. I love
her, but appear to be in the minority, for most see in her
an adversary.
I pity them.
Brute strength puddles at her feet. Sorrow is her ally, Anger
her sword. She knows the way to Madness and leads many unwary
souls down that
treacherous path.
I have watched them go, some racing toward places beyond time
and substance as she lashes their shoulders with depression
and irrational fears, others pacing an endless journey into
Oblivion.
For years, I resisted the siren’s call to pace, for memories
of pacing animals I had viewed in pet shops and zoos filled
me with sadness. I would not allow myself to join their ranks.
Then, recently, by accident of thought and step, I discovered
what a soothing, yet extremely interesting, realm pacing could
be, a realm of dreams¦.
Could it be that these whispering dreams I caress as I pace
are offered by Solitude? Does she seek to lead me to madness?
No!
I love Solitude. Not to love her is to become her enemy. Still,
I wonder, is this love not a form of insanity? A self-created
dream of joy in sorrow? Perhaps I am the most insane
of the mad. Am I but a madman eternally pacing in a forgotten
cage?
No!
Were my thoughts dipped in madness, I would not recognize
the marvels of Solitude. Her cruelty would not align with
her beauty, her peace with her agitation; she would simply
lead me into contemplation and introspection without exit,
without... She can be cruel.
No! I love her! I do! I do! I do!
Tim Alexander's fiction has appeared in many small
press and literary publications including: Armchair Aesthete,
Barbaric Yawp, Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine, and
Pindeldyboz. Timothy resides in the US Penitentiary at Marion,
IL.
Email: Tim Alexander
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