Solitude, Isolation, and Loneliness


Getting back into the flow of writing, mostly with wordplay and poems. I'm a creative soul, from childhood to middle age, and my joy is to produce new things the world has never seen before. I'm an educator from the USA working as a college professor of lit and music. I'm learning to love myself little by little.

She came home and began to write by the light of a candle:

When it started, my forced adulthood, I chose solitude after a childhood of endless interruptions of privacy; we were abandoned by Father and death took Mother away. As soon as I could find a way, I left the siblings to their own devices--of course I mean the robots--and hid myself away as well.

I chose to be alone. I came out in secret at times when I felt lonesome, caroused and chatted and retreated in anonymity. Then I met her, and the meaning of my life changed again.

I wanted to be with her. She wanted me. Perhaps she loved me; she was silent on that point. But then I got sick. I should've been more careful with that last turn of the carousel.

No one was allowed near. I was Contagion.

She didn't wait.

Now I am just a loose atom, a speck. No longer infected, I am still quarantined. My name stuck.

I'm no longer reveling in solitude; I'm just lonesome. I need someone. She infected me in that way.

I miss my family, even.

I hug this:

Mother's jacket.


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Comments (1 so far!)

Average reader rating 4.00/5



Stark and bare. A masterful sequel to my tale of misery.

  • #1238 Posted 5 years ago
  • 0
  • 4 out of 5

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Inspired by (sequel to):

The tears flowed out of her. Years of pain, years of isolation, years of heartache, years of fear p…

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