I drink much less than most people think

I drink much less than most people think, and I drink much more from the well of thoughts, where time flows like a gentle brook, whispering secrets of an unperceived world. A solitary soul in a sea of beings, I wander through the deserts of my own mind, where illusions of understanding shimmer, yet never fully retreat. I am a bastion of sincerity, in a landscape troubled by ephemeral jokes. My truths, heavy and unmovable, stand like ancient monoliths, unmoved by the winds of common worries. Indifference becomes my armor, against the battering rams of trivial concerns. The world spins in its collective dance, but I remain, a solitary ghost, outside the perimeter of their whirls. I hear the symphony of storms, the relentless hymns of the winds, elements clashing in a primordial concert, but they pass through me, like light through an ethereal mist. No species, no kin, no flock embraces me: I am solitary in this vast society, my heart, a walled garden, unseen, untouched by the entangled vines that root others in their realms. In the twilight hours, when shadows stretch and silence sings, I walk the dim corridors of thought, each step echoing in the halls of memory, each breath a whisper of forgotten dreams. Thus, in this quiet, melancholic journey, I remain a solitary sentinel, a keeper of unsung songs, in a world full of unheeded voices.