"his state struck me in comparison as isolation, loneliness. But solitude is different, and female solitude, when it is truly chosen, can be blissful." ~Cerwin Dovey
So now I am carving and clawing Into myself. Initially it is painful I am breaking myself Slicing through my own flesh Cracking open my rib cage In an attempt to find this place where I can be alone comfortable and blissful in solitude. It is a chaotic effort as I dissect each part of my self examining my interior with the utmost attention as I try to become familiar with each pulsing vein each cell contained memorizing every piece Abhorrent or admirable I attempt to become familiar with each flaw and each virtue loving them the way I would if they were contained elsewhere. The way I love each sparkle or scar in a lover or a friend. I am listening intently to every conversation with myself: my own, lone audience. I must become intimately acquainted intoxicated with my own thoughts my sole company so that I may eventually crawl into the cavern of myself. Safe within the walls of this skin. The bars of my rib cage. The pulse of blood through my heart. The absolute bliss of this chosen solitude.