There is just one escape anymore. There is just one familiar smooth latch to hold and gaze at contemplating all that could lie in the clink of its clasp. Everything else seems to take, and want, and everything has a price. It is a price we all pay gladly, unaware, and stupid we dole it out, giving ourselves to every toll we cross. There is no choice, no reason, if real reason existed that we shouldn’t, and ultimately we should…….will. The problem lies in that it is not really us that is needed to pay the bill. It is our time, our effort, love, money, sleep, blood, laughter and often tears the columns tally up. What few things actually require us in life to be us? Still fewer is the things we are actually allowed to be us at. It is only the pieces we shave off and throw in with a confirming ……tink..tink…that is required. Every human being on planet earth does this, and everything for that matter. The payoff is we have each other. The price, maybe we have given too much, and nothing remains to hold in the darkest of the coldest places. The only situation in which we can truly be free is solidarity. Solitude is the battle field for the soul, the playground for the heart and a minds true addiction. Whatever greatness one may have felt was born in isolation. It is the latch we have grown to touch with love. Real love, the kind that cries and laughs together simultaneously trades existence with each gulp of life. In such a manner, that, only three things truly exist. Oxygen, that magical random it, that not only prolongs the quest for ourselves, it wields enough divinity to bring such a thing to an end, enabling value for all cognizant things. Second we have this emotion that not only connects the mind to the body with its tingle, but all entities beyond perception. It is the vessel of life’s blanket and its tapping carries with it a feeling beyond the description of a yellow depiction of expressive emotion. Thirdly we have the focus. The catalyst to this bridge that is no longer separate as previously perceived, but a fellow dancer to this uninterrupted tune. It is the leather I am the metal, all of which is the belt, and how I Love….the belt that allows me to be the metal from the point of view of the leather. Love real love is such frivolity and akin to solitude in such regards. But…in all things what light do we poses greater than this, what other torch can we thrust above our head to battle the darkness for every minuscule glimmer of our path? So they dance, our whimsical natures creating each other perpetually with a breath, a love, and solitude. The three doors that should never need keys and always lead to the same nonsense……….ourselves. Today I yearn for solitude, and its handle glistens. I want to go inside, and take in all there is to breathe and love for. I want to think about the love I am so grateful for, so that it will hurt me, sharpen me, and direct me. There is so much when we are brave enough to look, and the pain of that will solidify every breath. Solitude is the harvest where we call the pieces back to us, and marvel at what they bring pulling behind them. Having collected another growth and accounted our wholeness. We contemplate the next planting, meticulously addicted the success of our venture. How beautiful it all is, how common, dare I say normal ……… solitude. It is escaping to prison in search of freedom, complete nonsense. Absurd, but absurdity’s material, however fluffy, creates a blinding light when lit with thought. For what completely absurd it, in itself is not completely essential to all things. I will pick up the check, thank you.