I want to sip and drink my hot chocolate, or coffee, or maybe even hot green tea, and look out in wonder at the evening stars.
I imagine what it would be like to wander through its halls; alone, with only the sound of the voices in my head to accompany me.
I want the road to be long and winding, making those who travel it wonder if it leads anywhere. I want to shed this rusty writing behind and wallow in the solitude and protection this mountain hideaway offers.
Sometimes I wonder at the phrase "lost in solitude," and wonder if it's something I made up. I roll this thought around in my head and hear how different it sounds from "found in solitude."
When I die, when I'm really dead and gone, will they find me in a place like this? Will I be "found in solitude?" or will they say "He was lost in solitude, all his life." Either way, I suppose, doesn't really matter.
