You grow accustomed to solitude because it feels like home. It has nothing to do with shyness. A moment of seclusion is like a down pillow upon which you rest, the place you retreat to to learn about and hide from yourself and the rest of the world. When you want to let someone in, to you heart, your mind, your life, it’s like breaking an addiction. You reach out your hand toward another soul and it scares you, the longing you feel to connect being painted by the urge to pull back into the familiarity of your own mind. Withdrawal sometimes sets in when you realize sharing yourself is a giving of energy, not just space. When you want to hold them but you want to walk alone in the breeze, when you want silence and company, when you want to give and to contain. When you want home to begin to feel like someone else, but you’re afraid they wont hear your knuckles at the door, or worse yet, knocking when no one is home.