Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Loneliness or solitude?

Why do I write? It's not that I want people to think I am smart, or even that I am a good writer. I write because I want to end my loneliness.
-Jonathan Safran Foer

This is exactly the reason i am writing today. The feeling of loneliness is like overcast today. Thick dark clouds with no silver lining visible. I can keep looking up but only get to see darkness all around. Its a weird feeling. Something i am finding very difficult to put in words. 

It's like being a complete stranger standing amongst million people where noone is talking to you. And noone seems interested either. And you too don't want to make an effort. It's the killing silence around. It's being unable to find solace in anything you thought you liked or enjoyed once. It's the emptiness. 
It's all these together yet none of these. 

It's like a countless friends on social media but noone to talk. It's like your phone full of contact numbers but none you can call. It's like nothing making sense from outside but sounds most important too. It's utter nonsense at times and it's a matter of life and death too. 

Complicated to the core! 


THE human heart has hidden treasures, 
In secret kept, in silence sealed; 
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, 
Whose charms were broken if revealed. 
And days may pass in gay confusion, 
And nights in rosy riot fly, 
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, 
The memory of the Past may die. 

But, there are hours of lonely musing, 
Such as in evening silence come, 
When, soft as birds their pinions closing, 
The heart's best feelings gather home. 
Then in our souls there seems to languish 
A tender grief that is not woe; 
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish, 
Now cause but some mild tears to flow. 

And feelings, once as strong as passions, 
Float softly backa faded dream; 
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, 
The tale of others' sufferings seem. 
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding, 
How longs it for that time to be, 
When, through the mist of years receding, 
Its woes but live in reverie ! 

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer, 
On evening shade and loneliness; 
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, 
Feel no untold and strange distress 
Only a deeper impulse given 
By lonely hour and darkened room, 
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven, 
Seeking a life and world to come.

by Charlotte Brontë

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