The fragments of solitude clandestinely inhabit every recess of my existence. They possess an eerie and pervasive quality. Enmeshed and torn asunder by the solitude that permeated my entire odyssey like fine particulate matter, yet I remained bereft of understanding on how to locate its locus. These solitary specters pursue me as if phantoms. They reside within my corporeal vessel, draining my essence to sustain themselves, emerging intermittently to disrupt inner tranquility, sowing discord and commotion therein. I find myself most vulnerable to the onslaught of solitude during idle moments, thus I opt for occupation. I might dedicate a morning to laundering garments, allowing each sud to occupy every moment.…