It’s an anomalous feeling when you finally get something that you want and it changes your life for the better. Yet you are still not satisfied.

How the loneliness creeps in demanding even more.

The achievement begins to drown and the selfishness rushes in. It’s thick and heavy and unrelenting with it’s demands.

Practice makes habit I was once told. So in my head I practice the idea of being alone.

I cultivate loneliness. 

I used to try to push through in an attempt to protect my black heart. And then sometimes I would let it rush over me consuming my mind. 

It feels like a slow bleed that is not within my control.

There were the two that got away. They flood my memory when the loneliness is tragically palpable. 

From an arms length I can still smell your cologne and see your sad eyes and my heart pleads so hard that you would come back to me and tuck me in. But you left me.

Then there is a whole other world of regret. This debate in my mind were I wish I could have made thing’s work with you. I wish I could feel the same spark that you felt. But I left you.

Instead here I am, just me, practicing the art of cultivating loneliness.