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Not alone

I went to my garden and saw my plants and watered them. I never go near then without getting on hands and knees and inhaling the sweet and bitter scents of my various herbs. They liked me. I felt them welcome me.

When I came near them and cared for them I realized I was no longer alone. The same when I passed my old porcelain doll and saw her pallid face glaring in the darkness, as mine does from old photos. I held her and realized that when I am with plants or a doll, I am not alone, yet when I am actually not alone, I am alone. I reflected how I am a solitary person, and to interfere with this is to give me acute pain not easily healed.

If you would poison me, surround me with mediocre minds. Their banal words and transparent thoughts are bitterer than rue. Pointless conversation topics and meaningless words I feel to my very soul, as though it is my own breath expelled and stolen from good use forever.

Truth and beauty are their monsters in the closet, the other side of the mirror they are not acute enough to glimpse.

Where are the other unicorns? I'm still watching for them. In the meantime I hold old Caroline close.
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