I am solo.

There isn't anything unique about me except for my indistinguishable stance and my timely laughs and the way I ironically feed my self-neglect like a parent nursing their child to health.

I was spoonfed bliss and harmony and I've run with this the best I can. I shake and shiver and struggle to exist despite my grandest desires to put out my fires. If living is a gift then some days I feel spoiled and others I'm devoid. Is that normal?

I'm older now and thought by this age my perspective would have shifted. College was a blur and navigating that transition from adolescence and post-pubescence to cleaning up my very own messes has been, at best, a challenge.

I sit here sullied and scared. I sit here strong and stable. I am solo.