There is a loneliness
that is not absence of others,
but absence of yourself.
Some days I live beside me,
like a stranger sharing a room
neither of us fully enters.
The outside feels simpler,
cleaner in its demands,
while the inside speaks in weight
without words.
I watch birds
not wishing to become them,
but to remember
what it is to belong to movement
without resistance.
And still I remain,
half gathered, half elsewhere,
waiting for the self
to stop being a question.
https://youtu.be/eS5HH5vacqw
08 June 2026
Some days go like this , although most require none there are days where none would even feel like a comfortable something against the Lonely self © Malcolm Gladwin