I want to be alone. I want solitude. I want to be isolated from it all; to put it all on my blind side. Yet this is one wish I, we, can never be granted. No one is truly alone, no matter how much it seems so. You may be the last of a nation. But you are never alone. There are always people there; before you, behind you, in your mind, all around.

Solitude, to others, may be the aspect of being in a room with no other living soul to disturb your peace.  This is not true. You are not alone. There are many things there with you. The voices in your head, the complaints you are making because you aren't alone, because you are not granted the silence you wish. Some think the silence of solitude is found in death, and so is the comfort of solace. I have thought of this in my quest for it, and found that this is not true either. There is always the stench of death lingering around your rotting corpse, and the occasional visits of spiders and maggots.  

Solace in the arms of another?

No. The ever there presence of their heartbeat is enough to shatter the feel of being alone. There is no peace. Only the bitter reminder of the harsh life you lead, and the curse of existing the way you do will forever haunt you in that one moment of mock-contentment.

Many seek this thing called Solace This peace of mind seems to comfort us all. Yet it eludes us, its companion, solitude, deludes us, giving us temporary reprieve. It appeases us for the time being before drawing back its blanket of security and leaving us to fumble and fend for ourselves in the wide field of misery and hurt. Many have gone crazy, others had given up. Some had moved on, hanging on only by a hair’s strength. But I, with my determination burning bright, intend to stick it out. I will find it. When I do, I will not let it go. I refuse to be blinded by mere solitude. That is not me. It is solace that I want.

And it is solace which I seek.