“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
Alone
by Carmen H Gray
I am a stranger to myself
Alone
I am reeling with my thoughts
Alone
I drift in my unconsciousness
Alone
I am a vagabond in an unaccustomed world
Alone
I am free to wander in infinite perpetuations
Alone
I take refuge from the outer disquiet of the world
Alone
One response to “Solitude”
What a depth you write from. Beautiful.
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