I’m feeling this way because I have this eerie feeling that you can see the innermost compartments of my soul, which I protect because it’s the only thing I have. It’s so protected that even I can’t  access it at
will. My focus is turned more outward, to scan the world around me for exploration and learning.

I’ve never been caught off guard like this.

It’s not about simple introspection and questioning my tendencies; it’s something scarier.

But there still remains a deeper urge, a thirst waiting patiently to be satisfied, to be quenched by the words of one who looks beyond and beneath what I’m saying to suss out what I’m really saying; what is peering through the cracks, shielded by verbiage.

I’m a destitute on a remote island;stranded, forgotten. Occasionally, ships pass by and I’m quick to hide despite the urgency to reach out. What if they do me harm? What if they are appalled by my eccentricity? Repulsed, even.  I’m safe here in the unknown. Inevitably, the thought that the ship and its’ passengers might leave to never come back frightens me, and it is this that triumphs over all those other fears. I emerge.

Stranger, I must look scruffy to you, I must seem emaciated and thirsty – but please understand, that just as I hand you my fragile world, I’m almost dying from the fear of doing something so drastic, so stupid. But, I choose to live risky, or die at peace, with no regrets.

Stranger, we might not speak the same language, but if I didn’t misjudge you, you would be able to look behind this verbiage and see the true intent.
If not, if you remain none the wiser, then I wish you well, I wish not to keep you from your journey.


the recluse.


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