I slept alone once, twice, everyday until I was eighteen. And here again I drift in and out of sleep with no one here. It feels so natural and not nearly as scary as is seems when someone is lying in your arms next to you. I awoke to a humid and miserably hot day. I was alone except for the sweat that covered my body. Like most days lately, only the thought of working entered my dreamy mind. No thoughts of sadness or loneliness that usually follow you around after a break up or when the pillow next to you is empy. It is hard to miss the perfection and happiness that brought us together when I am so much myself without it.
One of the few things I wrote this summer that actually makes sense. Being alone is good.
