Transcribed from my personal journal, written late 6/24 into early 6/25:
"Oh, Solitude," as Keats once wrote. It's strange here, here in this void lacking of people, the cats my only companions. It is now, as I write, that I feel the strength and overbearing presence of the over-soul the Universal, like a silent guardian leaning over my shoulder with a candle, akin to a Romantic portrait, lighting the inner workings of my mind. It is in these moments that I feel my intellect reveal my age and maturity - as if I am that much closer now to unlocking the secrets of my life and of this world. A shame, that such solitude in the sunlight often renders me into a state of depression, though not always. Of course being a Leo, one would thing that I would be less "in my element" at night, but like Keats, I seem most apt to tap into my inner self and inner strength come the wee hours of early morning, in that transitory period where one still says "tonight," even though the morrow has already begun.
Strange, too, how I should call that place "where" as if it were an actual temporal location in space, as opposed to a mere state of time. Perhaps I'll ponder this.