Solitary sense

Words fail me sometimes. No matter how much I try spouting them flawlessly out of me, I seem to make no progress at all. I get stuck, I get cramps, I lose things. I then close my eyes and carefully weave thoughts as I talk to myself. Sometimes I get lucky, other times I'm just a poor unfortunate soul.

But there are occasions when I'm at my best, when I mouth carefully selected thoughts and words with the least effort as if I've spoken them from birth. I sit tall, I look through, I talk sense. Most of the time, it's about the heart, its affairs, pains, and longings. I never claimed to be an authority on this, it's just that maybe I spent more time trying to learn from things that happened to me before.

That's why I find time to travel alone to places near and far. I save up for this, I fix my schedules for this, I consider this sacred. Finding time for yourself should figure in the list of things everyone should do. It's a rewarding tribute to one's self. It's never an issue of being a loner or hopeless depressive as some of my concerned friend worry about. For me, it's an act of love, in fact the only time when self-love comes out appealing.



I don't expect people to understand in the same manner that I don't expect love prospects to shine for all this year. But behind all of this is one simple prayer: I hope things work out for all of us this year. As a start, I'd like to give everyone flowers.