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On Solitude

I lock myself inside the car. Music set to repeat. If I sit long enough, the car’s chassis becomes my body and the music becomes me. If I sit still enough, the world goes away, and I am finally, finally alone.

“Teach me how to love you like I wrote.
And say it like I mean it when I don’t.” —Teach Me by Keaton Henson

“I consider myself a writer,” Henson once said, “but being a performer is a vastly different thing.”

Sometimes I forget they aren’t the same. It’s easy to smile, easy to mean, hard to feel. Matching your insides up with your outsides seems like an impossible task. It’s better to be alone than to behave.

But solitude and loneliness are two different things.

I like who I am when I’m on my own. I like who I am when I’m writing. No one has to see me for me to exist, and I get to live in the space between words. A valediction of self poised on the edge of meaning.

Source: Image by Bud (cc)

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