In the past, back when life was simple, I didn’t spend that much time by myself. I was always so busy, surrounded by my friends and family, simply unable to see the appeal in leaving all that behind me.
Perhaps, if I hadn’t been so busy, and if I’d had fewer friends around me, I would have enjoyed spending time by myself. I couldn’t imagine ever hating it, but when you’ve never experienced something, you can never appreciate it.
There really is something quite wonderful about being alone, though. It brings with it a kind of solitude that being with other people just can’t replicate. I feel completely at peace with the world, mirroring the calm waters before me; they’re not disturbed by the insistent pestering of some gull or cormorant. They’re still – peaceful.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this calm. My once exciting, crowded life had become only chaos. Those friends that had once distracted me didn’t seem to matter anymore. They couldn’t distract like they used to; now, they just made me angry. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t help.
As for my family, well… they were just as broken as I was.
I’m gazing out across the sea, watching the sun’s last rays dancing with their reflections in the still water, when I notice a flicker of darkness in the distance. I sit up, my legs stiff from the hours that I’ve spent here, frozen. It’s the smallest shape, floating slowly away towards the clouds above, but it’s somehow captured all my attention.
I’d always thought that I needed all that colour and noise of a busy life to occupy my attention, but that really wasn’t true. All that I needed was the sight of a child’s balloon, drifting slowly away from the troubles of reality.
I smile to myself, my right hand closing into a fist, whilst the left reaches out, releasing the ashy substance before me into the serene calm. As I do so, I let out the quietest of whispers:
This was my latest take on Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed my story!