AJean-Paul Sartre:
“If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company”

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stumbled upon while reading a movie review,
this almost a proverbial phrase provoking,
even stoking,

as we hold it up to the light,
twisting, turning the words,
as if it was a
kaleidoscope of diamonds,
looking at the fractured reflections,
for a better comprehension

we,
of two minds:
be-love and be-rued
this s l o w e d turning of our solitary solution
under the microscope ,
for critiquing
the two headed hydra
that has served us  well and poorly

you, dear reader, understand perfectly,
the utility and the inutility of aloneness,
the surge creativity that comes
from no distractions,
other than our internal attractions

which when
one interrupted by the company of,
insertion of a different catalogue
a holder of human foibles,
differentiating, threatening, upsetting,
and sometimes soothing,
always enervating,
unlike the soothe of solitude

either can overwhelm,
either can worse,
underwhelm
but
the crossover. when the contrast is
pointy and sharp,
raises an irritating questioning
like the cracking, dry skin, of
places where we do not put
moisturizing cream
for fear of feeling failure

each to their own,
the enjoy/unjoy of voices
claiming a  permanent correctness
of their viewpoint
  wringing in with
a legal pad of
pluses and minuses
listing side to dide,
but never adding up
to 💯

I’ll keep on telling you that I love you—
soft as dust on lace,
a whisper tucked in velvet drawers,
a melody wound into time
by trembling hands and silver keys.

Like the ballerina turning in her little glass world,
I’ll spin my love in slow circles,
over and over—
even when the tune grows thin,
even when the gears grow tired.

When the cogs in my mind lose their rhythm,
when the clockwork in my chest falters,
when my fingers no longer reach to hold you—
still, somewhere beneath the hush,
my heart will echo its worn refrain:
“I love you, I love you…”

Until the spindle stops,
until the lid closes gently,
and all that’s left
is the scent of old music,
the silence that remembers
the song we once knew.