“For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of – to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others… and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.”

-Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse


by Carmen H Gray

I am a stranger to myself


I am reeling with my thoughts


I drift in my unconsciousness


I am a vagabond in an unaccustomed world


I am free to wander in infinite perpetuations


I take refuge from the outer disquiet of the world


One response to “Solitude”

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