Learnt the truth too late...

It's not all bad. Heightened self-consciousness, apartness, an inability to join in, physical shame and self-loathing - they are not all bad. Those devils have been my angels. Without them I would never have disappeared into writing, the mind, laughter and all the mad intensities that made and unmade me. I can be by myself because I'm never lonely; I'm simply alone, living in my heavily populated solitude, a harum-scarum of infinity and eternity, and infinity and eternity seem to take a liking to the likes of me.

There comes a time when something changes you. No matter the impact... Where the world no longer beats in time with you. You no longer feel amongst the fray.. And the feeling of loneliness is a brandished armor you wear the rest of your life. It spins its mysterious cocoon, focusing the mind on one place, one time, one rhythm - the turning of the light. The island knows no other human voices, no other footprints. On the shore of isolation you can live any story you want to tell yourself, and no one will say you're wrong: not the seagulls, not the prisms, not the wind.