u complete me

We can’t sit at a table alone anymore. We have to be waiting – for someone, something to show. We can’t stare at the flowers and wonder if they’re real. We can’t study the inside structure of fruit. We can’t take a breath, spend 10 minutes scanning the menu painted on the wall. We can’t just sit without our phones anymore. We can’t stare out the window. We can’t close our eyes and listen to the music on the radio, the steaming of milk, the chopping of pears. This coffee has too much foam, not enough coffee. We can’t even listen to the rain. We need a book or headphones. We need to clink our silverware. We need to hover in groups by the door, scanning our escape routes. We need everything wrapped, to go.

We can’t even step outside at a bar, open our mouths to the sky to sip on drips of the moon without a cigarette in our fingers. Or sit alone in the middle row of a dark movie theater.

“Are you still doing OK?” the waitress asks the girl at the next table. I thought she was alone like me, green notebook out and open.
“I’m still waiting for someone.” And she searched for reassurance in an unblinking phone.


It’s OK to be alone.


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