How can you say something new about being alone,
Tell somebody you're a loner? Right away they think you're lonely.
It's not the same thing, you know.
It's not wanting to put all your marbles in one pocket.
And it's caring enough not to care too much.
Mostly, I guess it's letting yourself come first for a while.
Then there is a musical interlude that allows you to contemplate how very profound those words are, and how applicable they may be to those of us who love nature and animals more than 'humanity,' who prefer solitude to crowds, who love to read, paint, write, or just take a walk through the woods, content to communicate with birds, squirrels and the sheer, quiet perfection of nature.
Having grown up in a neighborhood teeming with people, not to mention a home teeming with insanity, I became a regular visitor to the NY Botanical Garden, a mere couple of blocks from my home. Packing my books, a pen and a pocketful of peanuts for my little friends, I'd disappear for hours, absorbing the smells, sounds and feel of what I've always considered 'heaven' to be.
I hated having to return to what I had so happily left behind, hated being mocked, called "weird" and always maddeningly misunderstood for what was simply the core of my being.
"How can you say something new about being alone, tell somebody you're a loner? Right away they think you're lonely. It's not the same thing, you know..."
Indeed, it is not.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vdowo-URok
