I have tried to be okay
with being alone,
in this apartment,
for as long as I have.
But it's lonely.
I like company and conversation.
Someone to lay against.
And pull my hands away from my head.
From this hair.
This shredded mess
that I hate so dearly.
It feels like I am losing.
Or maybe, I've already lost.

I wish I could see what
I look like to you.
What is beautiful about me?
What isn't.
I know what I look like for
thirty seconds in the mirror,
but when my reflection isn't
for me to see,
what does it look like.

I pause before I take another step.
"I'm lost." I say out loud.
"You're always lost!"
somebody shouts.

They're right, I know.
And then I take off again.

I like when I'm in your
t-shirt and you are not,
and it's just me,
you,
and the bed.

is an apartment,
that has 3 bedrooms,
but not enough living space
for that number of people.
I live here alone.
It's not modern,
but nice in a simple way.
I love that I can utilize every
room the way I want to.
The other night I ate my dinner
at the dining room table,
instead of my lap.
This place has grown on me.
Here lately I've gone between
feeling proud of myself,
and doubtful.
But I'm doing this.
All on my own.
I can't wait for the writing material.