I live alone in fear of arguments, and I sing alone in fear of dissonance, but please do not judge me.
I write but do not publish, so that uninitiated readers may not disturb the rhythm with uncalled for comments.
Yet, the meter of my verse feels incomplete; it speaks but lacks validation. There are no yardsticks for comparison to strike the right note.
Life cannot be an arc; I need others to meet me at some point and complete the circle.
How does it matter if I keep going round in confusion, if I learn something in every rotation?