Leralara

Q: If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

A:. In Knowing, and being Known.

L.L.J.B

It starts in the fetal curl,

a body folded into itself,

already knowing that soon

the quiet will go forever.

Loneliness:

a birthright,

pressed into the skin

before the first breath,

a kind of inheritance

no one dares speak of.

Outside, the mist waits,

hungry and indifferent,

unraveling forms

until they forget themselves.

Thrown into the void,

we drift,

not seeking salvation,

but the shape of something

that remembers us.

In that dark,

a flicker.

Not warmth, not comfort,

but the sharpness of a spark—

a beginning.

This is how myths are born,

a voice filling its own silence,

naming the void,

calling it home.

Loneliness makes its demands,

sharpens its edges,

cuts new shapes from the mist.

We pull story from nothing,

Replace the cast with strangers

to make the ache

a little more bearable.

From the curl to the cry,

from the cry to the lost ones—

we fear the darkness,

And embrace unknowns

disguised— seeking oasis

and in finding none—

begin the slow soul dissolve.

Because this is the truth:

we are cast into the void

not to be known,

but to create the knowing.

Loneliness,

the first gift,

the last companion,

and every story in between.