Solitary

I’m not afraid of being alone. It comes with the territory, having a personality like mine. I can sit for moments, hours, days, with no company but my own and be completely content.

But lurking in the shadows of the solitary moments, between each yellowed page, in the space between every word I write, under the bed with the singular pillow sits the crippling fear that one day I will wake up and realize that alone has become lonely, and by then I will have lost all ability to revert one back to the other.

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