Poetry On Being Alone Novels & Stories

Liana’s POV Ihave been alone since my mother died. The loneliness has always spread through my body like rot. Even though I am continuously surrounded by people, it has lurked beneath my skin and threatened to consume me. This morning, when I wake up alone, it feels different. It’s an alone where I can hear my own thoughts; they mingle with the gentle patter of rain against the thin window. For once, I don’t have to perform to anyone, because there are no ladies-in-waiting ushering me out of bed. Instead, I can lie bundled up in the soft quilt in a room filled with intriguing piles of books and sweet-scented herbs.

“This shot is amazing. The lighting is perfect.” “Yeah, the angle, the moment… It’s clear the photographer had a connection with that person.” Instead of saying anything, Mark moved further inside. The photos that followed spanned larger periods of time and more distant places, from vineyards to snowy peaks, small fishing villages by the sea, and neon-lit city streets. In every photo, a beam of light was captured. That was the world I saw, not his. At the end of the gallery was a blank wall with a sentence that read, “To those I once loved, and to the self I have finally become.”

He gave her his widest grin and pecked her lips this time around. "Hmm, lemme pour my own new poem for you. It's a lonely night Silently watching the heaven above that has no gap Quietly wishing it also has the small crack That is separating my heart from being one and whole The stars are getting acquainted to each other Helping the other twinkle And I wish they'd look down at me and flicker the dying Light in my soul and bring it back to life Still watching as the old dry palm branch shaped moon Slowly drifts down to the appointed term

As I scrolled down, I came across a photo. Her account was mostly filled with videos of her singing. She rarely shared photos. In this one, she was sitting at a table, hand on her cheek, gazing out at the sea. My eyes drifted to the caption underneath: They do not know, those who do not live alone, What fear silence brings to a person; How a person speaks to themselves; How they run to mirrors, Longing for a soul, They do not know. She’d shared a poem by a Turkish author.

They cut into the raw, unsteady solitude, cut into the truth of the night, of my night, of me. “Be careful tonight.” It is simple and more than I am ready for, more than I think, more than I let myself think. I am more alone than I want to be. I am. The words hang in the air. They hang. They hang and are bright and sharp and unbearably loud, unbearably real, unbearably alone. I fill the space. I fill it like I fill the breath, like I fill the room, like I fill the night, like I fill the fragile parts of my plans, like I fill the long hours, like I fill, like I fill.

"There's a poem there I'm going to Recite it." Bryan looked hesitant, he opened the book and gazed back at me. "In loneliness, I find my home Where shadows dance, and darkness roams My heart is empty, my soul is worn For I am alone, with no one to call my own My mother died, and my father blamed Me for her death, with a heart so ashamed I wrote this poem, to cope with the pain Of being alone, with no one to love again I had my grandmother to rely on So I pray every night for her to live long

I whispered under my breath, The books didn’t answer. The walls didn’t care. I sat there in the stillness proud but painfully alone, and wondered if that was how my life would always be with flashes of triumph in a sea of solitude.

The waves were wild, yes, but they always returned home. Each morning, he walked the shoreline barefoot, feeling the cold sand between his toes. Sometimes he wrote in a small notebook, just lines, fragments of thoughts. He didn’t call them poems that word still belonged to her but they were his way of breathing again. He’d write things like: “Maybe peace is not forgetting, but remembering gently.” or “Some goodbyes echo longer than love, but they hum softer in time.” He’d begun to learn that solitude wasn’t loneliness. It was space the sacred kind that let him hear himself again.

I craved for affection when I dwelled in the mortal realm, didn’t I? Oh, how jealous I used to feel of the people around me who had someone who wanted them. How lonely I used to feel. It’s now I realize that since I came here, I didn’t feel that once. The loneliness. It seemed to have been left behind in that mortal real ever since he bought me here. He was with me, in some way or the other. Either keeping an eye on me or keeping me company. I wonder what will happen if I go away right now? Will I find the same loneliness again? I find myself moving closer to him as I sink deeper into the pool of my thoughts. It feels like he’s the bottom and I am the anchor who’s sinking deep due to the wei

As I drove toward Gray Peaks, the silence of the car felt like a living thing. And as I glance at the empty passenger seat beside me, I realize for the very first time that being right is the loneliest thing in the entire world. I’m on my way to a high-stakes meeting to save a trade route I don’t even care about anymore, just so I don’t have to sit alone and face the agonizing memory of the woman I threw away.