the loneliest solitude.

a revelation in the face of lovers.

the loneliest solitude.

one glance turned

my solitude into

a wistful loneliness

unexpectedly intrusive

as though unfolded

from a cabinet of thoughts

too potent to feel—

-

soft skies, passing hills,

the cart is voiceless—

sound only spoken by

the riffs of metallic wheels

-

above me, my two bags are

firmly nestled between pleather suitcases

where they lay in starving anticipation

for our destination, two hours east,

back home to maryland

to visit my grandparents,

far from the city life i’ve been living,

a familiar return to the countryside

-

i haven’t been home in a while,

too consumed with my work

to make time to travel back—

perhaps, even too disconnected

to find reason to-

i have been content with the life

i’ve built alone—

-

to my right,

an isolated lake approaches

in my view, still and lifeless

like an evacuated shell

hauntingly aloof-

-

to my left, i turn to see,

there’s a contrast of its body

to the bountiful life it’s opposing:

prideful trees, auburn leaves, stalks of weed,

the dichotomy glares back at me pensively—

-

across from me,

i notice the movements of

two older women holding hands,

caressing the history of their veins:

each wrinkle traced like an annual ring

-

the woman closest to me

is draped in a mauve gown,

her hair covered with a headscarf

tied delicately into a knot,

the woman beside her,

now out of view, only revealing

to me the matching headpiece,

beige and knotted similarly

like the two women curated

their outfits for wherever their trip may be-

-

unflinching is their hold onto

each other, only shifting to

tug each other closer

as though their bodies were merging—

-

as i watch their movements

a melancholic potency simmers internally-

-

they feel like poetry,

like passing symbols of hope

and lives ahead still awaiting-

-

they mirror a fantasy

only the pictures behind

my eyelids allow me to see-

-

i question, is avoidance safety or a thief of possibility?

whether i have been deceptive,

deterring myself from letting desire roam free?

-

i repeat to myself

a mantra of self-sustainability:

i am content alone.

i am content alone.

you are content alone.

-

hoping to sober myself

from this naivety-

but every word

blurs my vision incessantly-

i am weeping—

-

turning back towards my window,

i retract back into my world-

i’ll be home soon, just breathe—

i am content alone.

i am content alone.

are you content alone?

-

*a fictional character driven feeling more so than a real experience.*