This silence makes me hear
The blood flowing in my veins,
The air, in and out of my lungs,
Even the motion of my hands.

On one hand, I feel trepidation.
Fear of not having anyone around.
Fear of passing days in solitude,
Fear of  letting things die within.

And then I think, what is this for?
Were people mere distractions?
Was this a stage; a hobby to kill time?
Why do I fear being with myself?

I have no answers as I think today.
One day, perhaps, I shall have them.
I want to live life free of fears,
To be alone is the biggest of them.