Poetry On Being Alone Novels & Stories

They bathed together, ate together, and went shopping together, just like what a couple deeply in love would do. I didn't make a scene as I simply watched them show off their affection in silence. With five more days left in the divorce's waiting period, Julian suddenly suggested climbing a snow-covered mountain. He insisted that I come, too. Halfway up, Evelyn had left to get something, leaving Julian and me alone. The gentleness on his face vanished at once, replaced by a cold stare. "Why are you still hanging around here? Do you really think Evelyn will fall for you eventually?"

I break myself, With words, thoughts, From my own mind. Everything I ran away from, I became. Everything I tried not to be, Everything I walked away from, I see them now. Taunting me, laughing at me, For my darkness was my fault, No other's. So, when I love, it's living death. I walk alone in this path, I made darkness my creed, Formed depression, With hands of flawless poetry. I created my demons, Now I'm haunted by them. Everything I am,

It wasn’t shattered in some dramatic way, not with a thunderous crack or a scream tearing through the air—it was quieter than that, slower, as if it had been hollowed out little by little, until all that remained was a colorless world of gray. The sky above me stood still, unmoving and dull, while the ground beneath my feet felt fragile, as if it was barely managing to hold me up—and I, I just stood there, unmoving, unsure, caught in that stillness like a forgotten statue. Alone. Always alone. I stared out into the emptiness before me, watching as the edges of the dreamscape crumbled and gave way in the distance, like a lonely coastline slowly eaten away by waves no one could see.

"Are you going back?" "I don't know. But I wanted the option." Celeste laughs. "You've become a romantic." "I've become alive." "Same thing." --- We spend Christmas alone. Not lonely — alone. There's a difference. Lonely is wanting someone to fill a void. Alone is choosing to be with yourself. I cook. Celeste sets the table. The dogs sit nearby, hopeful for scraps. "This is nice," Celeste says. "This is quiet." "Same thing." We eat. We drink wine. We fell asleep on the couch, tangled together, the fire burned down to embers.

Ayla sat frozen long after the file was shut, her hands pressed flat against the leather as if pinning it down might also anchor the storm tearing through her chest. The silence in the room swelled until it roared in her ears. Alone. The word repeated like a hammer strike, sharp and merciless. It reverberated through her bones until she could almost hear the echo in her blood. Alone meant no cover, no fallback, no eyes on her back when everything went to hell—as it inevitably would.

With Colin's departure, I suddenly felt somewhat incomplete. Without realizing it, I had run quite far. I retraced my steps along the familiar path, walking back alone, my heart burdened with sorrow. The streetlamps stretched my solitary shadow into an elongated figure as I bathed in the pale moonlight—a true reflection of my loneliness. As I walked, I absentmindedly kicked at an unsightly pebble. The pebble catapulted into the air, tracing a parabolic trajectory across the low sky before landing in some corner with a faint sound.

Outside, the world was still moving. Still loud. Still complicated. But inside that room— For that moment— None of it mattered. Because right now— She wasn’t alone. And as long as I was here— She never would be.

But for what kind of entity it would become when it finally could no longer separate possibility from identity. And in that silence— Nothing was alone anymore.

‘So, you’re here alone. I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain. ‘In case your billionaire powers of observation have failed you, Portia and Josh are down there. They’re fully formed human beings. I’m not marooned on a desert island.’ ‘You know what I mean.’ I sighed. ‘Fine. If you mean, am I here alone, unattached, tragically single, a pathetic singleton surrounded by a sea of Valentine’s couples, then yes. Congratulations on your deduction. I am alone. Are you happy now?’

Now dying because I couldn’t eat anything at all. Poetic. Stupid. Perfect. Bree was quiet. Verm accompanied me silently. Yet I felt alone. Just me and the slow, steady realization that this was it. Another day. And nobody was coming.