I'm in love with solitude, too.

Another one of my compulsions. Have to get up. In the middle of the night. To write. Not even knowing what I wanna write. This time. At 3:30 in the morning. Sneaking out of bed quietly. Not to wake my Italian true love. Maybe it’s that I like  solitude. When much of the world around me is asleep. Unconscious. That’s when I become most conscious. It’s as if there’s only so much consciousness to go around. It has to be shared by everyone. Portioned out. And I get the biggest share when others around me are asleep. Another writer friend observed the other day that we are born into solitude. From womb to tomb. We are really alone. But we mask our aloneness with friends. In essence, we pretend we aren’t alone. When really, we are. But I find that solitude/aloneness ain’t all that bad. I’m not the least  bit lonely. Maybe it’s that I’m in love. With life. And that includes solitude. –Jim Broede