self love made me a nudist.

Not to sound dramatic or anything, but I have known the deepest pits of lonely. I have known what it is like to feel as though your suffering is like water to an emollient wall - nothing you feel absorb into the pores of someone else’s soul. a lonely that is like ever present like the unidentified ringing of your ears that only intensifies in your silence. I have lived with a lonely in that it swallows and hangs on my limbs and takes over who I am. Name: Alone. When: Forever. And with that, I have also been flung into the throws of love. Flung, recklessly like the winds of a hurricane. Unforgiving. Loved so deep that I have in turn, became more of who I was ever meant to be. So much so, that I think God had to take it away from me so that my identify was more permanent, rather than the fluidity of it existing because of someone else. I have loved to the point where I physically became happier, more radiant. Was doing yoga and shit. I loved so hard to the point where every damned day felt like drowning in a bed full of daises and coming up only to be swimming in honey. The nectar of love dripped from the sides of my lips like a ravaged beast for someone’s affections. And the love I have for myself while discovering I could reach a depth of adoration? Unmatched. Both sides have taught me so much about the pleasures of living. Suffering in lonely is only a side effect of knowing what companionship once was, and the like with Love - it can only be truly recognized juxtaposed against an lonesomeness that your soul has truly drunken in.