The Choice

 In the wasteland, among the tribes of dogs, she was the wolf, all alone in the crowds. Some thought she was alone by choice of the others but the truth was, the choice was ultimately hers and she reveled in it. Solitude was her sweet sister, days on end without a word spoken. Isolated by choice.

 Yet was it always her choice? Or was the source of her choices now spawned from the need to survive in the past? To fit in, she tried so hard to be with them, of them, one of them and yet time and again she was slammed into the wall until her bones were shattered and she withdrew.

 A choice, to be alone, but is it a choice when there’s only one way? Acceptance is for others, to be as they are and so she stopped seeking the dream. It became her new dream, new identity and there was no going back. So now it was her choice, a path of her own without friend to lift from the falls. Tears cried on starless nights fall unchecked and unseen and by morning, have made no impact to the world.

 Is it her choice to be alone? It is now, but still, buried somewhere deep within the mausoleum of her soul lies that yearning hope to be called out to, asked to join the group. Perhaps one day, a little girl sitting on a bench by herself will be approached, hands out; “Come play with us.”