“What on earth do people think I live in solitude and I am wretched and lonely?” he wondered. Oh, I think they don’t know that I contemplate in such a mystical ritual. They don’t know that I converse with my books and my verses. They don’t know that I converse with myself, my chair, and my donkey. I’m lonely only through their blurred lenses. “They don’t know that my solitude is just a version of plenitude,” he said while he was taken with fits of laughter.
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