Being alone, and being lonely are two sides of a coin, To be lonely, solitary, to feel the walls creeping against you because none is there to stop it, to help you push them back.
Blankets turn to snakes, fingernails to knifes in icy palms,books become friends, and your thoughts your enemies.To be alone, singel-handedly, privately, on one’s own.
Silence turns to song, because you need nothing more than the quite room that once was a prison to you.
Because you have the unaided power to break both silence and prisons with nothing more than your hands that are no longer icy and no longer sharp.
Your books are still friends, but you do not cling to them, but enjoy them without fearing their distractions endI strive to be alone, I strive to make friends with my own, on my own,
because then I will never truly be lonely. I can push my own walls now, but I don’t need to.