Amidst the Musings of Others

I sit in my verandah, close yet distant to the musings and happenings of the world and wonder, as I do most of the time about nothing in particular, I feel comfortably alone. While something within me makes me want to yell out and demand attention, another part of me takes in the fullness of this moment of solitude. I wonder how much I will be missed and whether the absence of my being leaves a void in this world of constantly moving diverse dynamism. Perhaps not. 

But does this self-indulgent side of me truly want to be missed? Yes, it's very nature is that: greed. I give into it easily. I pity my ability to feel sorry for myself.

And yet the sounds of this known street comfort me in that very strange and lovable way. Though alone at this moment, I am bound by the love of this street. Never totally free.

I wonder why I have nothing to say, yet so much to write. Is this a defect in my personality or a boon of a past life? Perhaps in the smoke an answer will emerge, magically. I think I forget how close I am to it.