in my lonliness, i sometimes wonder if it would be safe to ask to be freed from it.
perhaps i am safer in my world of beauty, of exquisite pains, of sweet nothings.
the occasional passerby seems to intersect a part of my world from time to time, but like a traveler from another place altogether other, their eyes can see only what they expect, and so, see little. i try to show them my prized roses, but they can see only ashes.
but perhaps, my garden grows best in solitude. and even, on occasion, my blessed trees, my beloved vines, and my precious flowers ask me to leave them in further solitude for a spell. they have their own secret rites as well. when they invite me back in, all is more wondrous than before.
so, i garden and bask and love and cry and fear nearly alone. and perhaps the once-in-a-while visitor makes it all the more sweet.
