Being lonely is like tending to a garden—every moment of solitude helps you grow and prepare for blooming new relationships.
Not So Lonely Anymore
"Shay!" Rolo's voice cracked with fear.
He was drowning in darkness—an endless, all-encompassing void. The air around him was thick, suffocating, as if time itself had frozen. No smells, no sounds, not even the feeling of his own breath. Panic began to swell inside his chest, each heartbeat hammering louder and louder until it was the only sound that filled the abyss. In this desolate place, Rolo began to question if he even existed at all.
Then, cutting through the emptiness, came the sound of a voice—steady and familiar. "Here I am."
Instantly, the fear that gripped Rolo released its hold, the darkness peeling away like the fading remnants of a bad dream. The abyss trembled, and vibrant colors began to paint the space around him. Slowly, the darkness retreated, replaced by the familiar, comforting walls of a room he knew well—his own. The warmth of the space enveloped him, chasing away the cold, and Rolo's heart slowed its frantic pace.
"Welcome to your mind," I said softly, the air around us now filled with a magical hum, my words laced with a power that rippled through the atmosphere. Rolo's room was no ordinary place—it was alive, pulsing with the energy of his thoughts, his essence. The very walls seemed to shimmer, reflecting the complexity of the mind they guarded.
Rolo, wide-eyed with curiosity, took in his surroundings with the kind of awe one might reserve for stepping into a dream. His gaze flickered to the window, and what lay beyond took his breath away. Instead of the familiar streets of Pécs, a vast, dark city loomed on the horizon. Towering skyscrapers stretched into the stormy sky, their shadowy outlines sharp against the swirling clouds. The concrete jungle felt strangely familiar, yet entirely foreign, a city constructed from his deepest subconscious.
A flicker of recognition passed through me as I watched Rolo observe the world he had unknowingly built. "Come," I called, my voice softer now, more attuned to the magic coursing through this space.
I didn't reach for the door; instead, I waited. I knew this was Rolo's journey to take, and he needed to open the door himself. Tentatively, he stepped forward, grasping the handle. As the door creaked open, the cool air of the ghost city greeted us. It was a place built from the fragments of his thoughts—each building, each street an extension of his inner world. The sky above was thick with low-hanging clouds, and the wind carried with it the scent of rain, as if reflecting his mood.
We descended a staircase, stepping out into a sprawling courtyard of empty, towering buildings. Rolo's city was vast, a labyrinth of high-rise structures, each one casting long shadows that twisted and stretched, their dark forms concealing whatever secrets lurked within his mind. It was both eerie and beautiful, an intricate maze of concrete and glass, utterly devoid of life yet filled with energy.
"The city perfectly shields your room," I mused, looking around. The very design of the place offered a natural defense—a mental fortress concealed within a labyrinth of dark houses.
Rolo, his initial awe giving way to a more contemplative look, paused mid-step, a frown crossing his features. "Why is everything so… grey?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
"The place always reflects who we are," I explained, watching as his thoughts seemed to dance in the air around us, almost visible in the magical atmosphere. "Your mind, your mood—it colors everything here."
Rolo's face twisted, as if he'd bitten into something sour. "So, it's all grey because I'm feeling like this?"
"There are times of day in our souls," I continued, gesturing to the overcast sky. "The gloom reflects your mood at this moment."
He didn't seem pleased by the answer, and for a moment, the sky above us darkened even more, the clouds swirling in agitation as if in response to Rolo's inner storm.
I gestured back toward his room in the distance, hidden within the maze of skyscrapers. "That room is your sanctuary. It's the place you should focus on—the part of your mind you can control and sculpt the most. The city is just the backdrop."
Understanding began to dawn in Rolo's eyes, small sparks of realization flickering within him. I could see him slowly grasping the importance of his internal defenses, of mastering this mental landscape that was both refuge and battlefield.
"You want to see how I did it?" I asked, a playful smile tugging at my lips.
Rolo's curiosity sparked visibly, though he tried to hide his excitement. There was a light in his eyes, a childlike wonder he couldn't suppress, and I knew he'd been waiting for this moment. I extended my hand toward him. "Let me show you."
He took my hand without hesitation, and together, we stepped from his mind and into the depths of mine.
The transition was smooth—seamless—and when Rolo blinked his eyes open again, he found himself standing in a vastly different world. My mind, unlike the complex cityscape of his, was simple—deceptively so. There was no sprawling city or high-rises, no labyrinth of dark streets. Instead, we stood beside a giant willow tree, its ancient branches swaying gently over a still, mirror-like pond. The entire world was drenched in soft, ethereal light, and a gentle breeze whispered through the grass.
Rolo stared up at me, seemingly unfazed by my true form. To him, my true form seemed almost inconsequential compared to the simplicity of my mental landscape.
Rolo glanced around in surprise, his head tilting as he took in the simplicity of the scene. It was serene, and peaceful, but I could sense his unease. To him, the openness of this place was strange, foreign. He had expected something more intricate—more guarded. I saw his eyes darting, searching for something—walls, fortifications—but there were none.
This was my sanctuary.
There was a tightness in my chest that wasn't mine. It belonged to Rolo. His thoughts were racing, and I could feel the loneliness he sensed in this place. Even in this peaceful setting, he felt the weight of isolation—an unspoken truth that lingered between us. This was my world, and though I allowed others in, it was a quiet, solitary place at its core. Even surrounded by people I trusted, this was where I retreated—alone.
I sighed softly, watching as Rolo observed every detail of my mind. His curiosity was palpable, his mind whirring as he took mental notes. I couldn't help but smile, a weary but genuine expression. It was strange, even in the simplicity of this place, to feel exposed in a way that words could never capture.
Rolo's gaze lingered on the old willow tree, its branches swaying gently in the soft breeze. He seemed mesmerized by its presence, eyes tracing the intricate pattern of limbs stretching toward the sky, some lush with leaves, while others stood stark and bare.
"Shay," he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the wind. "Are there a lot of things you don't want to remember?"
I blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "What do you mean?"
Rolo pointed toward the tree, his expression thoughtful. "Those branches... the ones without leaves. It looks like parts of your memories are gone, like they've vanished."
I frowned, following his gaze to the bare branches that curled among the lush green ones. The sight had always seemed so natural to me, part of the tree's essence, but now... Rolo's words made me pause. I'd never really thought about it. The willow had always been like this—some branches full of life, others barren, as if they had never known what it was to bloom.
My mind drifted back, reaching for something, but there was nothing there. Just emptiness. The bare branches had always been there, hadn't they? Ever since I could remember. I stared at the tree for a long moment, my thoughts twisting around Rolo's observation.
"I never thought about it," I admitted quietly, my voice tinged with a strange mixture of realization and unease. "The tree's always had those bare branches... for as long as I can remember."
Rolo studied my face, his curiosity tempered by a newfound understanding. He didn't push further, but the silence between us felt heavy, laden with the weight of things unsaid.
I sat down beneath the willow, leaning against its wide trunk, the bark cool against my back. Rolo wandered off a few steps, his eyes still scanning the landscape. The tree's shadow stretched long across the grass, swaying slightly as if alive with secrets, while the pond nearby shimmered under a soft light, its surface so still it looked like glass.
Rolo studied every detail with the fascination of someone discovering a new world. His hands brushed the grass, occasionally plucking a blade and watching it disappear between his fingers. He glanced back at me, then at the vast forest surrounding the meadow, eyes narrowing in thought.
"How wide is this forest?" he asked, his voice curious but laced with something more—perhaps wonder or even respect. "It seems huge... bigger than my city."
I smiled slightly, watching him as he absorbed the scene. "It's pretty vast, yeah," I said, leaning my head back against the trunk. "The forest represents... mental fortitude, I guess. Boundaries. Barriers. The thicker, the deeper, the stronger. Yours is a city—structured, organized. Mine's this… endless wilderness."
Rolo gave a small nod, looking impressed, though a bit overwhelmed by the difference. He circled the edge of the meadow, his steps cautious, as if he were still getting used to the idea of walking through someone else's mind. After a while, he paused near the pond, eyeing its calm surface, the way it reflected the willow's branches like a mirror.
I watched as he crouched down, his hand slowly reaching toward the water, the tips of his fingers just shy of touching the surface.
"Don't," I said softly before he could make contact.
Rolo glanced back at me, confused. "Why not?"
The pond was beautiful and serene, but I knew better.
"It might look peaceful," I explained, my tone gentle, "but touching it... it's not a pleasant experience."
Rolo raised an eyebrow, but he didn't push further. He withdrew his hand, watching the pond ripple slightly as if it had felt his intent.
"What's in it?" he asked quietly.
I looked out over the water, remembering what lay beneath the surface—the parts of me that were best left untouched, the things I didn't want to face. "Feelings," I said after a pause. "But not the kind you'd want to dive into. It's... a bit like staring into something you can't come back from."
Rolo frowned, clearly unsettled by the thought, but he nodded, accepting my words without argument. He stood back up, casting one last glance at the pond before stepping away.
I exhaled slowly. Even here, in the quiet of my own mind, some things were better left undisturbed.
After a while, Rolo returned to sit beside me, his curious eyes still wandering over the vast landscape of my mind. He leaned back against the trunk of the willow tree, his gaze fixed on the twisting branches above us. His eyes narrowed slightly in thought before he spoke.
"Why a willow tree?" Rolo asked quietly. "Is there a reason you chose this particular tree for your mind?"
I glanced up at the tree, the long, drooping branches swaying lightly in the imagined breeze. I'd never questioned it before. "I don't know," I said, my voice contemplative. "I guess I've always liked how they bend but never break."
Rolo hummed softly, nodding as he took in the explanation. After a moment, he shifted, fidgeting with a small twig in his hand before continuing, his tone a little softer. "It feels... lonely here. Do you feel that way too?"
I turned my head, surprised by the question. The emptiness of the meadow, the quiet pond, the solitary tree—had it really been that obvious?
"Sometimes," I finally admitted, shrugging lightly.
Rolo seemed to mull that over for a while, letting the silence stretch between us. Then he asked, almost out of the blue, "Has this place always looked like this? Has it changed?"
I paused. Had it? The willow tree, the pond, the endless forest—they had all been there as long as I could remember. But now, thinking about it, I realized that they hadn't always been this way. "Actually..." I muttered, more to myself than to Rolo, "it's changed over time."
Rolo raised an eyebrow. "Changed how?"
I looked up at the swaying branches, then at the pond's eerily still surface. "The forest wasn't always this vast," I said slowly, piecing it together as I spoke. "It used to be smaller. The tree wasn't this large either, and the pond... it was just a small pool when I first saw it. But over time, everything expanded—grew."
Rolo's eyes flicked between the elements of my mind, his curiosity intensifying. "So the more you've grown, the more this place has too?"
"Something like that," I replied. "As I changed, so did this space. The forest spread, the tree grew larger, and the pond got deeper. It's as if the more I've learned to control myself, the more my mind has had to stretch to contain everything."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, before asking, "And what about the parts you can't control? Like the pond... has it always been this calm on the surface but... dark underneath?"
I glanced at the pond again. "Yeah, it's always been that way. The surface looks peaceful, but what's beneath..." I trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. "That's one part of this place I don't touch if I can help it."
Rolo stared at it for a beat longer before leaning back against the tree. "It makes sense, in a way," he said, contemplative. "We all grow, and so do the things we try to keep locked away." He smiled faintly, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.
Rolo nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the distant treeline. "Do you ever walk through the forest? What's out there?"
I followed his gaze, my lips pressing into a thin line. The forest stretched endlessly, a dark, dense expanse that I rarely ventured into. "Not often," I replied. "I don't know what's out there, exactly. I've never gone that far."
The small spark of curiosity in Rolo's eyes dimmed slightly, replaced with a quiet understanding. He shifted again, this time more cautiously as if the weight of his next question lingered heavily on his tongue. "Has anyone else seen this place?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
I hesitated for a second, thinking about the others. "Actually," I corrected myself, "you're the third." I glanced at Rolo's curious expression and added, "Aleshio and Mazen have seen this place before you."
He blinked, trying to process that.
"Don't worry, though," I added with a small smile. "I didn't make it easy for either of them to get here."
He fell silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of the moment. Then he hesitated, glancing around the vast expanse before turning to me. "Shay... how do you structure something like this? If I wanted to build something like this, how would I even start?"
I chuckled softly. "Everyone's mindscape is different. You just need a central structure, something to anchor you. For me, it's the meadow. For you, it's that room. From there, you build defenses, not just walls but layers—places where you can retreat or confront invaders head-on."
Rolo stared at me, a determined look forming in his eyes. "I want to make mine stronger."
"You will," I said, my tone firm. "Your foundation is great to begin with. But don't rush it. Mental fortitude takes time."
He nodded, absorbing the advice as we both fell silent, the stillness of the willow tree embracing us.
Rolo looked around one last time, his gaze softening as he took in the expanse of the forest, the towering willow tree, and the shimmering pond. "Thanks, Shay," he said quietly. "For showing this to me."
I smiled, feeling a strange warmth settle in my chest. "You're welcome, Rolo. You've earned it."
He grinned back at me, the usual mischief dimmed, replaced by genuine gratitude. And for the first time, the little meadow didn't feel lonely at all.