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The solitude of sons.

In the shadow of your silent rooms,

Where the echoes of laughter once bounced,

You sit, my brother, clutching your longing,

A burden too heavy for one heart to bear.

I see you, and I feel your ache,

For your loneliness is a thread

Woven into the great tapestry of men,

A sorrow shared but seldom spoken.

Your yearning is real, as real as the soil,

And your tears are not shameful rivers,

But waters seeking to carve meaning

In the granite of a hardened world.

Yet I must whisper this truth, gently,

As the wind caresses the weary branch:

The balm you seek in other company

Will never mend the cracks within.

For woman, too, bears her burdens unseen,

Her struggles veiled, her voice sometimes stilled.

She carries a world that demands her smile

While her own heart cries for solace.

Do not mistake her light for your salvation,

Nor her laughter as a cure to your plight.

She does not owe you her presence, her care,

Though she may offer it freely, in time.

Companionship is not a gift taken,

But a garden cultivated with gentle hands.

First, tend the soil of your own being,

Pull the weeds of bitterness and despair.

For what you wish is not born of demand or need,

But of abundance shared in mutual grace.

Seek not to fill your emptiness with another,

But to overflow so both may drink.

When your soul stands steady, like a tree,

Rooted deep in self-discovery,

You will find her not as a savior,

But as a companion walking beside you.

And in that meeting, your loneliness will fade,

Not because she has healed it,

But because you have learned to hold it lightly,

And she, too, will find a hand to hold.

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