The Importance Of Solitude

It's better to be alone, some of the time

She rode her bicycle. Every day, to and from school, three miles up the hill to begin, three miles down to end. The wind swiftly flew around her as the road took her wheels after work. She only had to press the brakes on the handle bars to keep steady as she quickly rode, looking forward to reclining on the grass in the park lawn near her home. She loved to watch the sun set then stare at the stars.

 

“There is dignity in this,” she thought. “The sun and the stars are timeless.”

 

She swam on the weekends, in the greenbelt stream, treading against the current for a mile, then floating on her back with it until she returned to her bike, locked with a chain around a sturdy tree’s trunk next to the trail. She’d stare at the sky, floating and breathing in the blue and white endorphins, not being able to see any sights besides the most natural, nor feel anything but the cool water sliding through her body, below the sun’s warm summer rays.

 

“As long as I am breathing, there is more right than wrong with me,” she thought. “This is the only moment that matters.”

 

She wrote music, when she found the time. She’d never had a lesson, but her ears could harmonize, and her hands were coordinated. To her, tune came naturally. Piano, bass, and guitar. She’d play the same song, again and again, until it quit satisfying her, though that could take time. She wrote lyrics, too, beautiful words, evocative and arousing. Without seeking fame, she kept this all for her own pleasure.

 

“I am content in solitude,” she said, holding her head high, looking through the partly closed blinds of her apartment window, into the dark of the night, where she knew she must one day go. “It’s unavoidable.”

 

She sat in the corners of rooms at parties, to take in the music. If it was disagreeable, she would leave without even a consideration. If not, she stayed, and from the corner, could see in all directions, eyeing and eavesdropping other conversations. She would smile and sit still, responding to them in her head.

 

“They could never understand the importance of solitude,” she thought.

 

She rolled around, restless while beneath her covers during the night. Her mind slept underground, and her dreams were dark. Not dark as in evil or depressing, but shady, unfocused, and black. Most of the time, she was only left with a vague memory stuck to the top of her skull where her eyes could not go, like looking back to a past life.

 

“Maybe if someone,” she started to say, but paused, remembering how desiring and uncontrollable the thought stream is, and brought it back to her breath. “As long as I am breathing,” she thought.

Reviews

[Maxwell]

Loving the simple dialogue (or, I guess monologue in this case). Seems to make it much more accessible, more universal. And it does, I know exactly how she feels in this. Maybe that means I'm a nonsociable hermit, but it also means this a great piece of writing.

No major criticisms here. I just can't think of anything, haha.

[Sara Jean]

very well written

"As long as I am breathing, there is more right than wrong with me"


I look forward to reading more of your work