the illusion of loneliness

We are never alone.
Not even when others
drift away,
or those near us
won’t listen, can’t see,
ignore what we say.

We are always among things:
the slow pulse of furniture,
the deep hum of walls,
cats curled in perfect silence,
mountains — looming tall.

Even the smallest lives —
insects tracing unseen lines —
join us.
We are never without companions.

And then, there is music,
filling rooms like light,
the comforting weight of food,
a window’s invitation
to a sky beyond our sight.

Loneliness whispers,
a choice we need not make.
I choose not to listen.

For the truest companion
is this path we tread,
its steady unfolding
like a shadow ahead,
following us always —
quiet, constant, whole.