Alone

I am alone.

This didn’t come from an evening, a wound, or a run of bad days.

Nothing builds this. It surfaces on its own: a consciousness maybe, buried, a second self I kept turning from.

It isn’t a belief. Belief can be argued. This can’t. You just know it, if and when you do.

It does not pass with the night.

And it holds true for you too!

The ego is all performance. It dances to whatever tune will have it seen the way it wants, and it changes the dance for every room.

Conscience is the other thing. A blade kept sheathed until the performance is cut or the plan breaks. Then there it is, edge out, cutting both ways!

This is not loneliness. Loneliness weeps. This does not.

This is a drum-roar in an empty hall. An announcement no one made and everyone hears!

It has scored every moment of our lives, and we have never once turned to look at the band.

I am not the only one alone.