Will anyone understand?
Will anyone hear me?
Will anyone call?
Will anyone remember?
Will anyone think of me?
Am I here only when someone sees me?
When someone notices me, recognises me, acknowledges me — do I somehow become “more”?
More important?
More significant?
Can I breathe more deeply when I am surrounded by a crowd of admirers?
Or do I breathe most freely when I am alone with myself — with my feelings, my thoughts, my own space?
And then…
Is it easy?
Is it freedom?
Or is it loneliness?
There are holes — great and small.
Real ones.
Deep as endless chasms, roaring in the silence.
There are waves as enormous as giants when the sea rises in a storm.
And there are labyrinths — frightening, complicated, seemingly impossible to find a way through.
But I smile at all of it and show them my Unicorn.
It is not afraid.
It is Free.
It runs lightly through the rain and the storm.
It swims joyfully through the waves.
It can descend into the deepest chasm and quietly explore what is making that terrible roar.
No.
It is not lonely when the Unicorn is alive.
Loneliness comes when the Unicorn has no wings.
