Alone

It's Saturday night. I'm sitting at Panera Bread, tucked away in a booth. Hiding.

I have a bit of a complex about being seen out alone on the weekends. I'm sure that seems seems silly, and it probably is. Thankfully, it's not enough of a complex to keep me in. It is, however, enough for me to drive 15 miles from home so that I can be a little more comfortable. (Which I normally do, but I was too lazy for the drive tonight.)

 Only because I'd rather avoid those awkward moments of seeing people I know swirl in and out with their boyfriend or best friends while I sit for hours upon end reading, writing, people-watching.

 I've had the house to myself this weekend. And I've enjoyed it, I love the quietness. You see, it's not the physical aloneness that bothers me. In fact, I often crave that. 

 It's the other aloneness that I'm dealing with. The outsider looking in aloneness. This aloneness has pain attached to it. The kind of pain that makes your squish your face and squirm. The kind that produces a dangerous desperation. 

 I've learned the hard way that I can't will people into my life. When I have, they've been the wrong people. They weren't good for me, or I for them.


The right people, they come as quickly as they go. That's just the way it works. There is a lesson to be learned in that I'm sure. One that has not been easily understood by my heart. Not yet rationalized by my head either.


I know that they do come though. And the knowing, just the knowing, makes this pain a little more bearable. This aloneness a little less lonely.