I prefer to be Alone.

There is a hunger, a craving that wakes up in the darkness.
When the sun hides its shining face behind the blanket of black silk, the stars and moon glitter sweetly and tempt me into something I could take if only I would reach for it.

Piles of work glare at me from the floor because I don't dare put them on the desk. What if it broke? I don't trust it. My bed holds me sweetly, cradling me and whispering sweet nothings in my ears. "Sleep darling. Close your eyes and drift into dreams and nothingness...rest".
I want answers! I want time to think, to write, to explore. Make my dreams vivid and full of color, emotion, awareness and dear bed you can take me to wherever you wish. Awake or asleep, it does not matter.

I want to walk with you on a road, gravel paths, chalky white sidewalks, and grass that tickles my ankles. I want to tell you my stories and let you explore my past. How fascinating it must seem to someone who hasn't lived it. Just like yours makes me smile and ache in ways you simply don't imagine. Yes, I make that assumption. I know that I can never understand someone else's stories, though I relish listening to them. Tell me about how when you were young you "fill in the blank". Tell me of your dreams and your let downs. Tell me of anger, kisses, hurts, healing, darling tell me of your growth. Let me see you as the seed you once were so that I can understand this towering plant in front of me, or next to me. What are you? Not a flower, heavens no. Not a veggie or even fruit. A tree perhaps?
Shade me from the thoughts and bruises that linger and scar me with dreadful thoughts. Stint to flow of endless tears that are more invisible each and everyday. They do not glitter like diamonds, they wash nothing away, no river like tendencies. My screams and sobs and wretched tears are quiet, silent, and nothingness upon the wind.

Make time to tell me what needs told. I do not live in the present, but am always falling behind or so far ahead that I lose sight of those in my life NOW. My heart pumps, thumps, thuds against my chest to let me know it is here, not there, that I am and belong for now in this place of utter confusion.
24 hours of sweet aloneness. 24 hours of staring into the sky and simply letting my thoughts drift about. They clatter here and there begging to be released, but really there is no one to tell. I have been heard before and everyone loses interest after awhile. I am the dress from yesterday, the forgotten ghost, the unexciting news that you try to evade. We are speeding through these moments, not caring for clarity, and then I look back and forward and wonder, "How ever did I get here?"

Bring me home... But first show me what that means. To have a home. To love with out boundary. To give and bleed and love without restraint. Give me something that isn't tainted. Show me being alone isn't all it is cracked up to be... Can you?