by thefourpartland

There are times I wish a man well, and times when I wish him poorly. But most days, I do not wish a man anything, for I know him not. Instead, I walk my own way, a way that is solitary, and in that loneliness I find comfort, for I know that no other can be as alone as I am. Thus I am the saddest of my kind, and all others above me.

Yet in that sadness I find company, for many others walk the ways of sadness with me. They do not walk beside me, no, nor do they often cross my path, but I can sense their sadness in the air about me, in the muted ripples of a shallow pond, in the last whisper of a leaf as it falls from the tree. It is a comforting touch, a gift that matches my loneliness stride for stride, and one that I share with others.

For that is the gift of loneliness – it brings sadness, but in that sadness is company and a grace found in no other place. Tragic figures we are called, and pitied by all who bestow glances upon us, but that tragedy gives us meaning, gives us stature. Otherwise, my companions and I, lonely and sad as we are, would have no meaning.

Perhaps we do not, at that. But leave us our illusions. We cherish our only children.


  1. Eric J. Krause on 10.13.2011

    Excellent story! So much truth in this. Yes, it’s a lonely existence, but there are so many who walk the same exact path. There was definite poetry in these prose.

  2. The Four Part Land on 10.14.2011

    I was actually writing poetry at the same time as I wrote this story, so it’s rather amusing you should say that. 

    And this story, like rather a lot of the flash stories that appear on here have some basis in my past. I’m rather good at being a loner đŸ˜›

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