the hermit. 10 of 22.

January 2, 2011 Posted by the writer

the hermit

During the four weeks prior to moving in with Anthony I only left my apartment a handful of times. I stayed inside reading books and sitting in silence. Although the silence I refer to does not fall into any category of isolation’s hush.

I was listening quite closely.

I would have stayed if I had known. I would have been more careful.

I read books by Richard Cavendish and Aleister Crowley. I listened to Tibetan chants. I fasted for days at a time. I considered approaching you.

I knew where you were. Closer than ever before.

You aren’t the type to spend time alone. Your vibrance and beauty can’t stand for it, regardless of your feeble attempts. I love you more than anything, but you are not strong enough to endure what I have seen. Things I experience on a daily basis.

You don’t have to though. It’s what I’m here for.

I didn’t know it was going to be like this. The time I spent studying.

I came out of solitude with refreshed sorts of acceptance. There is nothing that occurs that I ever wish to change. Everything is predestined. You reading this now. Me choosing to tell you.

Walking down the subway steps to take the train to my new residence with Anthony, something occurred to me. I no longer felt that the beliefs that construct us seemed esoteric.

I felt pleased by the practicality of it all.

About the writer

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gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

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