The fancifulness of solitude
Living alone is vehement. It is taking the Hubble telescope and zooming it on the darkest corners of your heart and not cringing at the pockmarks of insecurities which glare at you, or staring headlong into the craters of hidden truths and denials. It is exhaustive and quieting at the same time. And depending on how buoyant you can keep yourself, it can vary from being mildly enlightening (Had the sunlight always been so beautiful?) to outright depressive (Will I ever find out who I am ?).
And ‘alone’ wears many masks. it hovers sympathetically when we wake up in tousled sheets dampened with hushed tears and broken silence. It walks beside you calmly as you go about family;accepting it’s many lies. It shuffles in beside you in that corner aisle of the old bookstore, where you discover it is ok for people to walk out of your life. Sometimes it is a patronus charm you conjure, to take away the burden of relationships which don’t last. Sometimes, it is just the wizened companion, which makes you stare at the waves and wonder where did it all come from.
But, it eventually falls in place, like all things do, including us. You learn painfully, that you are your own anchor and also the deadweight pulling you down. You laugh out of no reason; sudden and harsh. Maybe it is the idea of endless loneliness sinking in. Maybe it is the asparagus you charred while you painted your toes red. Despite all those reasons and none of them, it falls in place.
The evenings get mellow and warm; you grab a book to lean by the heater and the threadbare carpet to curl up on instead of a familiar face to snuggle. A yellow potted cactus and maybe a cat to whisper those words of comfort and small talk. Goldfishes maybe; or just a large slab of chocolate. Day after day, we go about finding substitutes, one after another; like pawns in a chess game.
Yet, solitude is elusive. it escapes us as we shift between replacements for emotions and validations for our thoughts. And when you wake in cold sweat, having the same nightmare of death and getting lost in the infiniteness of this universe, it doesn’t care to visit with words of comfort or truth.
Endless days. Scalding showers. Tears, sweat. Sex and movies. Mundane everydays and routines. Flea markets and adrenaline rushes. Inky hands and messy artworks.
It never ends.
Only, one day you step out on a cold overcast morning and notice the distant grey clouds approaching you. They seem to loom threateningly. When you drive into them, not because you are fearless but because you have to anyway; you will notice that all they could threaten you with was the burst of rain. Rain, drenching your fears with showers of truth and confrontation. Don’t stop, drive on. Wait for the moment you see the watery sun to peek out of the shadows. Do you see those rays crawling out lazily ? Don’t stop, drive on. Only, pocket that memory with care.
That’s solitude.
