If need be, I can close it in a chapter. To make sure, it breeds no more and is caged within the pages. But in the end, I am but alone. And the I, left alone, can brandish its sorrow in the array of confessions. So I open the chapter again and read these letters again. Because sometimes, I need to hold hands. Sometimes, the loneliness is a bit too demanding. It demands to be loved. I am unarmed against such needs. Then again, at all terror and despair, I stand alone. So I must find a new armor to battle the temptation of love. To marry the strength of solitude and thrive at heart of loneliness.