Maybe it was a long-time process. Or maybe it happened so abruptly that I did not notice when it started, nor did I realize what sparked and fueled this raging feeling. But I did. I fell in love with my solitude. Hard. But this time the fall did not hurt. This time I did not have to pick up broken pieces of myself. It did not break me the way the previous falls did. Sure, I did feel an ache deep inside of me, but it was the good kind. One that made me sit and stare absent-mindedly, contemplating how beautiful life is because I have me.
It was liberating. Fulfilling. It felt like it was always meant to happen. And finally, it did. Boy, did it made me feel complete. I felt found, seen, and validated. Have I been searching what was inside of me this whole time? But I do not resent myself for it because maybe it won’t feel as magical as this had I found it sooner. Had I not been bruised and crushed in my first three falls, I may not have known that this one is the one that counts.
This fall is the one that makes me want to keep falling in that abyss that did not feel suffocating for a change. Maybe this is my kind of romance. Maybe this is my fairytale love story and for once I do not have any complaints. I fell in love with my solitude.
