It’s almost like a compulsion, your solitude.
Often do you want it.
Often do you need it.
Often do you find it.
Not often do you leave it.
Sometimes, you long to be free from it. To leave your safety and to bloom.
Sometimes, you feel trapped by it. Unable to leave. You’re hooked.
Compelled to be alone. To remain entombed. Despite a wanting away. Despite a conflicting force. Two desires. Opposing goals. You’re to be torn. You’re to be broken. Shattered potential turns to dust and flies by in the breeze. Then the two will be rested. Each accomplishing dream met. And you’ll be home.