Better to be alone

You ran, and at last you rose from the heart of troubled days. Everything has been the price of your life, except these small, worthless fragments of it. Leave your life at the bottom of a suitcase, with two shoelaces and your loneliness. Do not look back; just keep walking. The only companion on your path is this single pair of shoes. Your shoes, though full of blood, your shoes, though worn and weary— from the tightness it new hopes have quietly blossomed for you. Your simple smile is woven from the pale, threadbare strands of womanhood, the faded threads of a woman sleeping beneath your young skin. Hide your pains boldly, endless pains that have become a subject of irony. I know a woman who, in her loneliness, whispers her sorrows into a well.