the state of being or living alone; seclusion:

to enjoy one’s solitude.

Solitude has personally always been a provisional aspect I needed. As vibrant and open I adore being, there are temporary breaks I physically and mentally long for to feel myself grow and adjust my fair of the idea that over time, I will replace priorities, lose contact with individuals, and keep moving forward while I will always have myself. I have been infatuated with the idea of people. Crowds. Conversation. That will always be the majority of the complexity of a being I have formed overtime. Which is why I rarely mention this minor aspect of the life I always loved. I yearn for those walks alone, the contagious smiles of the people that surround me. I love the spots I find alone, the ones I debate whether I should keep to myself, or somehow bring someone in particular. I love the books I have finished at benches I have never gone back to, and the strangers that started conversations who sat next to me. I cherish the cups of coffee and cigarettes I’ve consumed with music I wouldn’t often share, the thoughts that turned into writing and the dances in front of my mirror. From crying to smiling, it is so pure when uncontrolled, when there are no factors influencing your emotions. When it is just you. Because when you know it’s temporary, you take it all in.