Loneliness, a thread pulled taut,
drawn from the fabric of eternity,
where all hands held each other,
where time dissolved into the stillness
of perfect love, no harm, no hurt, no fear.
You were there. A trillion trillion years,
cradled in the oneness,
unshaken, unbroken, unseen.
And then—
a single thread pulled free.
A scream, the first breath,
the first terror of separation.
You became a discernible you.
Separate. Alone.
The first great trauma,
too vast for memory to carry,
but etched into the marrow of your being.
The loneliness,
this hum beneath all things,
is not a flaw,
but the cost of seeing.
You cannot love without distance,
cannot touch without space,
cannot know beauty
without standing apart from it.
Look around you.
The sky is blue because you are here to see it.
The trees sway for your watching eyes.
Each blade of grass exists
to be touched by your separate hand.
You, threaded out from oneness,
have become the witness,
the experiencer, the lover.
It is awkward, isn’t it?
To be you.
To carry this strange and holy discomfort,
this ache of remembering
where you came from
and knowing it is not forever.
The hum is always there,
a song of the place you left behind.
But hear this:
You are divine.
You are not broken,
not misplaced.
You are love, walking the earth,
gathering its sights, its joys, its heartbreaks,
reporting back to the oneness
what it is to be human.
And when your thread is rewoven,
when the scream of separation fades,
you will remember the trillion trillion years
you spent holding hands,
and you will carry this short, sharp,
glorious moment of being distinct
back into the whole.
Until then,
love the awkwardness.
Love the hum.
Love the loneliness.
It is your invitation
to touch, to see, to live.
It is the thread that holds you
to this precious, fleeting experience.