the quiet crevice within me, is a lonesome hunter. her facade, sticks out like a sore thumb. a brilliant blue, amongst the midnight sky; speckled with timid, yellow stars. seeking, nothing more than the dampened warmth of familiarity. the comfort, of which knowing carries. similarity, through feel, sight, sound and thought.
the true spirit of solitude, is seldom concerned with comparative views and remarks. it bears, little desire for self-criticism and cynicism. maintaining a stillness in mind, is the ultimate goal. the assertive thought, to slow down and when necessary; pause all that is shifting and churning. a singular command, redirecting thought, action; pacing all that requires direct attention. this is a difficult skill, one that is alike most others- progressive. it requires armfuls of time, continuous effort and rigours discipline.
there are steps to take, and on occasion for a certain reason; you will sometimes have to stop walking altogether. for a minute’s rest, an hour’s call of duty. look around for reminders not to stop, entirely. at times, these reasons will have buried their visible parts, deep in trenches as they remain often unseen.
turn towards the internal, and listen; watch; as it spirals outward.