Outside the rain is pouring. It’s early in the morning. Cars are driving past my window, people commuting for work, going about their lives. I’ve sat here for so many times that I’ve lost count. My favorite spot in the house. It’s so quiet here. In my own company. I love it.
These are the moments I live for – I need them to function. Me, myself and I. The feeling of being alone with myself, with a cup of hot coffee in one hand and a good book in the other. Sure, I live with my family, but I still do feel alone. The difference now is that I don’t have that inner cry telling me to flight before I get mad, because surely something must be wrong with me for wanting to be alone. No, I’m content sitting here alone. Nothing is wrong with me. I want to be alone, I need to be alone. It’s so important.