My Nonesense

I'm comfortable being alone, and I'm not sure how to show that without having to say a word.
I enjoy the silence.
I prefer not to speak or keep company whether I'm their guest, or they're mine. But not everyone will understand that need to be alone.
No having to deal with the fickleness and changeability, the instability or another's mind and heart. Or worse yet, experiencing the same in yourself
by cause of another. They find the stirring of the heart tantalizingly breathe taking. Breathe taking, yes- however I fear not ever being able to breath again.
I'd never lie to anyone of my feelings for them, but that would mean they sat with me in my silence for a time. Only because they could endure for a
long while the absence of any reassuring embrace to warm them; because they intimately know the cold and howling winds as much as I do.
Who, behind iron walls and underneath a stony facade, is just as shy, soft-hearted, gentle, but frightened of an outside world they're forced to brave just as I am.
But who around me bares this inner resemblance?
I'm quite sure I'm being unreasonable, complaints made over things no one bats an eye at; about news old to everyone. But i"ll entertain the thought,
this nonsense of a heart I carry and keep it under wraps. I'll make sure to cloak my naivety in cynicism as best I can.

*of another's mind and heart