The air of being alone
can only be described
in a few lines of words,
spaced out, creating solitary gaps
in between lines. They know they exist.
They are quiet and patient.
They live by that existential emptiness
yet are not empty. A mysterious paradox.
They know they are small parts
of a grand emptiness that is also quiet and patient.
They respect and understand the passage of time,
as they are aware that it has its role
to play in this universal theatre.
Because they also have their own roles
and participate in this great silent dance.
Everyone is. And being alone is
part of the dance.