If you sit and ask yourself
What it means to be alone,
You’ll most likely
Come up with more than a few
answers.
Maybe being alone is
When you move to a foreign country
And nothing is your own,
Not the customs
Not the monuments
Not the craters in the earth.
But it’s okay, because
The sun, and the stars, and the
moon
Are all the same,
And they will always be yours.
Being alone might be the moment
You step forward to make a place
For yourself,
Despite the disapproval of
Those who,
Naturally, “know what’s best”,
And leaving your old decisions
behind.
But you still have
Your character, and your integrity,
And the optimism to walk on.
Being alone could be
The feeling you get when it seems
As though everyone has
Given up on you.
You’ve gone so far,
And they know it.
But they’re waiting, if you let
them.
Being alone may be the fact
That everyone has moved on
Without you.
Leaving you in the dust,
They achieve and conceive,
And you’re still stuck here.
But you have your
Smile and your dreams,
And the hope you’ll harbor
Forever.
Maybe it’s when someone dies
And you’re now on your own—
But even then, you have
The books you read,
And the songs you love,
And the arms that will hold you
Even when you’re scared to feel.
No, being alone is not death,
Or goals, leaving, or crying.
Being alone is when you feel
everything
And choose to feel nothing.
So you push them away.
Being alone is not fear, or pain,
It is a choice.
All the songs and the books and the
poems and the sighs will not help you.
Even the stars are beyond your
reach,
When you decide to be alone.
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