My first love was myself, and the time I spent with me was pure magic. I talked to the moon in the sky. I laughed as raindrops hit my cheeks. I would run outside in the tall Johnson grass, even though I knew the blades would nip at my legs. I gathered clover blossoms by the lake. I climbed the highest trees so I could have the vantage point of my dreams. I sat in silence above everything and embraced my solitude. When life was hard, I leaned into myself. I traversed to and fro through my own internal dialogue, but somewhere along the roads of growing up, I got lost and forgot how to be alone. I was afraid of my solo shadow, consumed by loneliness, longing and the need to be loved, the need to belong.
However, as I grow older, I have grown more comfortable with myself, by myself. I have rekindled an old flame that I considered forever quelled. I am remembering how to be alone, and how good it feels. I am relearning my terrain, my thoughts, the winding roads of my heart. I have such a rich inner life. I am never bored. I am hardly ever lonely. I have the well earned ability to be in my own company and not be afraid. I sit with myself, I belong to myself, I turn inward and I am never alone.