I never knew that my homeostasis was, in fact, this quiet, aching state of being alone.
I return to it every now and then, usually after a long day spent doing a million things, moving from one responsibility to another, collecting conversations, decisions, deadlines, and fleeting moments of accomplishment. For a few hours, I live above my hedonic treadmill, convinced that motion is the same thing as meaning, that exhaustion is proof of having lived.
And then, inevitably, everything goes quiet.
The noise withdraws. The people disappear. The notifications stop demanding pieces of me. And I find myself back in that familiar room inside my head, a place I have never quite learned to leave behind.
Perhaps this is my equilibrium. Not happiness, not sadness, but the strange stillness that exists somewhere between the two. A state where I am neither looking for company nor truly at peace with my solitude.
It is almost unsettling how easily I return here.
As if, beneath all the ambition, all the movement, all the beautifully complicated chaos of my days, there has always been a darker, quieter version of me waiting patiently to be alone.
Maybe solitude is not what I seek.
Maybe it is simply where I eventually end up.
Disha🌻
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