Home Alone

I'm actually not alone right now, but the one person here is still sleeping. It's quiet, and not just because I can't hear the noise. There are no appliances running. The phone isn't ringing. The radio is off. I recall my mother saying that she often left the radio on all day so that she would not feel lonely. It comforted her to hear another voice.

I am content to be my own company, but sometimes I get tired of myself. Quietness does not bother me, but emptiness does. There are days when my soul says "Ah!" to the stillness. Other times the solitude closes in like a painful blackness.

Today, I say "Ah!", but I clearly recognize the relief of knowing there is still someone around asleep.