It is not abandonment that breaks the soul but the illusion that others will fill its void; the hope.

And yet without that silly ridiculous hope, loving would be incomplete.

The human condition is a strange thing. Trapped in our patterns we create prisons to escape them.

How often have I strayed from my own interest to aid others, only to be repaid with hurt?

How often do I find myself alone?

How often have I been betrayed?

And none of it is a lesson. None of it was unexpected. None of it is purposeful.

I know the consequences of sacrificing for the benefit of the ungrateful.

Aloneness.

My chosen solitude is self-love.

It does not break me.

It is comfortable.

The pain of being martyred I have known for more than a decade.

Only aloneness eases it.