people tend to look at you funny when you're by yourself.
a few give the stare of sympathy; apologetic for your being alone.
but I don't mind it, really. not at all.
I choose my solidarity. I enjoy my own company.
I enjoy the conversations of my thoughts with my heart.
I enjoy sitting at a table for three, alone, at a café underground.
I take my time, I take slow bites of my sandwich and long sips of my tea.
I write. I listen.
To the echoes of poetry in the pit of my stomach,
to other people's conversation.
I wonder why they choose to discuss the weather instead of their emotions.
I wonder if they have a favorite song, and what that song does to them.
I wonder which of all is their favourite colour.
I observe endlessly their gestures.
Their faces, the slightly visible creases beneath their eyes,
their humor, their tension, their kindness.
The waitress, keeping count of her tips when there's no one in line.
The artificial display of burning firewood on the plasma television.
Entwined dim lights and origami lanterns hanging down from the walls.
MGMT's Kids playing in the background of pool table and ceiling fan noises.
Control yourself, take only what you need from me.
I dedicate songs to myself. I disagree with their message.
Unapologetically, I pass time in the cinema of my mind.
It helps me connect with the anxious, suffocating,
void and pending urging twenty-one-year-old emotions beneath my veins.
Solitude helps me cope with myself.