At last I am alone with my thoughts. I am alone in my house to ponder and dream up a life filled with memories. I am free to think and free to experiment with food. I have free reign of the television, and the animals of the house listen to me when I speak.

I feel at peace for once. I can feel myself recharging as the storm outside rumbles. I make myself a warm cup of tea, grab a snack and head for the porch. I watch as the heavy clouds move in and the world goes quiet.

The thunder begins to roll and the rain starts to pour down.

I feel the intensity. I feel the energy.

The power of the storm strengthens me. I enter the empty house. I prepare myself a meal. I have no one to hover over me as I make a mess of the stove. I have no one to tell me what to add to my meal.

I am free to make my food anyway that I want. I am free to make my own mess. I am free to sing and dance around the kitchen as my quinoa cooks.

I am able to buy what I want to eat. I am able to cook when I want to eat. I enjoy the freedom of being able to decide when and where I will do my studying.

I grew up being told that being alone was wrong; I would be nothing. But, alas, I enjoy the solitude and I enjoy my freedom. The notion that silence is a burden, was created by one who did not know how to appreciate the vibration of their thoughts.



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