Solitude

♫ ♪ “That you are not alone for I am here with you
  Though you are far away
  I am here to stay…
  You are not alone” ♫ ♪

This part of Michael Jackson’s song accompanied me for many years. I kept listening to it, as it described my status perfectly. The company of solitude needed great sacrifice. You sacrifice the warm conversations and the peaceful gatherings. You have to stick to the cold walls of your room, closing the door well. Nothing is welcomed except silence. Nobody is with you but coldness. The only voices that you can hear are Michael’s and my heavy breath.
Solitude is watching your pale face in a cold mirror for years, unshaved and bony. Solitude is to stare at a dead butterfly kept in an empty jar, watching it loses its colors day by day. Also, it is a large album of the photos of your dears and beloved ones; some of them are far away, others are dead.
Solitude is unwashed cups of coffee on a dusty table. It is a plethora of letters to the unknown. It is a bitter taste in the mouth, which nectars cannot heal. It is a glut of imaginary friends playing hide and seek. It is a welter of sleeping pills in your stomach. Solitude is insomnia, forlornness and a zillion tries to commit suicide.