Captured in Solitude: The Irretrievable Emotions of Loneliness
Loneliness, like the fading embers of a cigarette's last breath, possesses a unique, haunting beauty. It dances without melody, engages in a silent dialogue with solitude, and breathes life into the quiet corners of one's existence. It's a feeling both special and priceless, unlike any other. The remarkable thing about solitude is that it doesn't inflict pain or pull you into a suffocating abyss.
The walls that surround me may remain silent, but that doesn't mean I can't speak. In fact, I have a friend to whom I can pour out my thoughts—a friend who listens without judgment, who comprehends my words in ways no one else can. I never sought comments, nor did I wish to be subjected to judgment or have my wounds healed. All I ever yearned for was understanding. I understood that I could never possess a heart or truly belong to a feeling, but I harbored a small, fragile soul that longed to be heard and comprehended.
However, that old soul of mine is gone now. I've relinquished any expectations, given up on being loved, and no longer crave understanding. It feels as though it's too late for everything. The emotions once stolen from me cannot be resurrected or recreated. It's akin to trying to find a path in an overgrown, forgotten forest—one where the trail has faded, and you can't reconstruct the way.
Indeed, it's too late for everything. They cannot resurrect or recreate the emotions that were stolen from me. Being a captive of solitude appears to be my destiny. Even solitude itself becomes lost in the vast expanse of loneliness. Now, you may wonder, how can my soul not be ensnared within the confines of this profound solitude?
The walls that surround me may remain silent, but that doesn't mean I can't speak. In fact, I have a friend to whom I can pour out my thoughts—a friend who listens without judgment, who comprehends my words in ways no one else can. I never sought comments, nor did I wish to be subjected to judgment or have my wounds healed. All I ever yearned for was understanding. I understood that I could never possess a heart or truly belong to a feeling, but I harbored a small, fragile soul that longed to be heard and comprehended.
However, that old soul of mine is gone now. I've relinquished any expectations, given up on being loved, and no longer crave understanding. It feels as though it's too late for everything. The emotions once stolen from me cannot be resurrected or recreated. It's akin to trying to find a path in an overgrown, forgotten forest—one where the trail has faded, and you can't reconstruct the way.
Indeed, it's too late for everything. They cannot resurrect or recreate the emotions that were stolen from me. Being a captive of solitude appears to be my destiny. Even solitude itself becomes lost in the vast expanse of loneliness. Now, you may wonder, how can my soul not be ensnared within the confines of this profound solitude?
Comments
Post a Comment