Every man is an island
As you grow older and your thoughts harden, you’ll find that your island is swelling, and the rest of the world shrinking.
You start to drift apart from people whose lives you now find scarily distant, and you reject new people who come along, with whom you could never find the spark. You then turn to books and movies to bolster your island, fictional people who voice out feelings that you do not have words for.
“Sometimes, people use thought to not participate in life.”
When thought prospers, when the worlds in your head expand, the people outside don’t matter anymore. The feeling of being out of sync no longer exists. Your island is the safest and most comfortable place you could possibly be in.
Only, it’s a cave you’re living in. And the things you hear from outside are always broken patches of sound, filtered through the cavemouth of your mind. Soon enough you’ll stop hoping that a stranger claiming to be your soulmate would come knocking on your door. Every stranger out there has a cave of his own, a solitary retreat of private fixations. Yours is only one among millions. Soon enough you’ll understand that your cave is all that you have, and all that you will ever belong to.
