Sometimes I think I could be alone, just by myself. I like it, I do. I have the bed all to myself, I don’t have to change what I listen to or even lower the volume.
But then I sit down at the table and the silence seems a little too loud. There’s another plate ready, but I just save it for later, there’s only me.
I clean up the mess in the kitchen, and there’s no one helping. There’s no one who cares if my kitchen’s a mess. Just me.
My mouth has no reason to open so I do this in complete silence.
Leftover dinner in the fridge and a kitchen clean. I go back to sitting alone, feeling so small in this space, this unshared space.
This is where I feel alone. This is where it’s hard.