Whole Is Alone
The fire in you doesn’t come with instructions.
It stirs and burns like a misplaced comet,
something wild and unclaimed,
sitting heavy in your chest, waiting to be named.
But don’t. Names ruin things.
They clip wings, and this thing, whatever it is, needs to fly.
But it isn’t here for that.
It’s here to remind you:
you’re alone. Of course, you are.
We all are. But don’t get sentimental about it.
Alone isn’t lonely, not unless you let it be.
Lonely is the mind
selling you a tragedy when all you’ve got is silence.
Alone? That’s the whole show,
the spotlight you didn’t ask for.
I know the place and so do you. The raw edge of the void.
Right there, fresh out of a shower,
wet, naked, half-lost,
and the world cracks open like an old walnut,
a kaleidoscope of cosmic nonsense.
Lights. Geometry.
Beauty so sharp it cuts.
“Hell, this is it.
It’s been me all along.
This is what I’ve been chasing, the big answer.”
But the mind, it never shuts up,
not even for God.
“What about them?” it asks.
“What about your brother, your lovers, your friends?”
And in that second,
you want to go back.
Back to the chaos, the noise,
the goddamn circus we call life.
It’s all here. The meaning, the beauty, the love.
The old man is showing off his painting,
in trees that almost kiss but never quite,
in the wind blowing through your hair
like some cheap cologne commercial.
You’re not looking for answers. Not really.
Loneliness is a trick.
It whispers that you’re incomplete,
but the truth?
You’re already whole. Whole and cracked,
stitched together by the same thread
that ties stars to the sky and roots to the earth.
So when it gets too heavy,
when the weight feels unbearable, give.
Give it away.
Not because it’ll fix you,
but because the giving reminds you
of what’s been inside you all along.
We’re alone, yeah. But that’s the deal.
You give yourself away, piece by piece,
to see what comes back.
Alone is the canvas,
and your love, your light, your giving,
that’s the paint.
The masterpiece isn’t waiting to be found.
It’s already here.
This world, this strange, beautiful mess of a world,
it’s enough.
It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s both.
It’s wherever you are,
and you’re here for all of it.
