The soft rustling of aloneness,
not an empty echo,
but a breathed in air.
Space to untangle,
threads of self,
spun and known.
No clutching hand required
to feel the pulse of the world,
the wind a soft touch,
the stars a silent knowing.
This self, rooted and whole,
offers not an empty vessel,
but a filled cup.
Love then,
is a giving not a clinging,
two solid shores
meeting courteously,
the open sea between,
respected, understood,
a bond freely chosen
rather than desperately sought.
For in that solitude,
the heart discovers its own song
To truly sing in harmony .