In the the murky wake of yesterday's reverie, I find myself adrift upon an uncharted sea of silence. Therein lies the essence of solitude, not as a barren void, but a space teeming with untold narratives waiting to be spoken, heard, lost, and bound again.
Who am I, in the echoes of a crowd unseen? A mere whisper amidst the thunderous quiet, or perhaps, the architect of my own pilgrimage?
The paths of solitude are many, but each forges a singular truth. Perhaps we shall convene, not here, but manner unforeseen – on the astral plane, in dreams that we dare not wake from, or beneath stars indifferent to human fate.