So perfectly honest and true. Loneliness is a bitch no one wants around, but Solitude I love. I crave Solitude more than I care to confess. Living in New York City has it’s benefits, but such a jam packed city invites Loneliness in, locking Solitude out.
“You should get out and meet people,” they tell me, like they’re urging chemo. “It’s easy,” they say, “and besides, What Do You Have To Lose?”
Like most social advice, this is intuitive, reasonable, and bullshit.
They assume I have nothing to lose because, to their extroverted eyes, a lonester like myself has nothing worthwhile at all.
They don’t know recognize the value of what I have. I have Solitude, and Solitude is a lady of the highest quality.
You don’t see her? That’s all right. Not all invisible friends are imaginary.
When she walks through the house, she is quiet and elegant, her subtle scent the only indication she’s around.
She listens to my unusual music choices without complaint, giving every artist its fair due without judging. Sometimes she hums along.
Solitude doesn’t complain when I ruin a meal–she always knows just how to salvage the leftovers.
When we watch a…
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