It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s not that I am alienated . Normally it’s the other way around. I am highly outgoing. I love being with people ,I love the way they live with simplicity or with weirdness. It amuses me how people can love someone so passionately and hate someone else so ruthlessly. I love it when people talk about life and dreams, and the way their eyes glow in doing so . But then, for some reason, having no explanation, there is this argue to be alone, this crave for solitude, to isolate myself too feel the inclusion , to be able to being with myself completely and truly so that I can look at the mirror and the image is nothing else but truly the reflection of my own soul. I ache for those solitary moments so that I can remould the distorted pieces again.
It’s not that I don’t like conversations. I like to talk . I like to talk about love and life , about dreams and passion , and all the other emotions we have. I like to talk about the silly things and laugh like there is no tomorrow. But then once in while or probably more than that I like the quietness. I like to sit where there is no noise but only the music of the breeze, touching the moist grass with my bare feet and to look at the moon in ecstasy, the sort of ecstasy I am always keen to experience.
It’s not that I don’t want to see the reality of the world . I like to feel the sweetness and the ruthlessness, the compassion and the anger, the smiles and the tears , the failure and so the success. I wish to feel everything that can be felt . I want to face everything that life poses.But sometimes the idea of an escape fascinates me so much that I shudder at it. I wish for an escape that can teach someone the glory of solitude.