If I had a week with her, I would spend every morning helping her make breakfast. We would have Egg’s Benedict’s and Blueberry muffins that would fill our home with the smell of, well, home. And we would read the newspapers, or our favorite magazines; and share our views on trending celebrities and random gossip, the weather, the frightening spike in gas prices, or the burgeoning costs of our future together. Then, we would share a quiet of moment of silence. She used to like reading poems from her favorite authors aloud, filling the house with her whimsical meter and enchanting reciting  and as sudden as her voice would change, so would the room we stood in, transforming itself into a theater where anything except reality was allowed onto the stage. I desperately crave these days, and I would do almost anything to have but a mere second of it back.

I’ve changed more than I’m willing to admit. I’ve lost far too many of my friends in this passage to better myself, and I’ve only gained a few, if I can even say that. I just feel so distant at times; most times when a friend wants to reconnect. And it’s not a distance from them, but a distance from myself. Said friend says she misses me or wants to grab a drink and we do, only to find that we have nothing to talk about anymore. I guess this is part of growing up and becoming an adult, but, no one told me that the worst part was about how I felt about myself. Everyone always told me that bills suck, jobs suck, and having responsibilities suck. I hate to break it to the generations above me, but the worst part of being an adult is the self-realization. Realizing my friends aren’t actually my friends, realizing that people don’t genuinely care about me, and realizing that in order to become the person I want to be, I’m going to have to bury that boy I used to be.

I find it obscure that we can live this way, and how believing it would change never got me through the day.

And I almost always feel alone. I have gotten used to it to some degree and I usually feel happier alone than when I am not. But sometimes the pain of loneliness supersedes the contentedness of lonesomeness and I have to use every ounce of sarcasm and coldness to pretend that everything is fine. 

Silence seems to be the easiest place to hide.

Nothing beats the feeling of knowing someone is perfect for you.

But mostly I just like having people to talk to. It keeps me leveled and it keeps me focused. Sometimes it even makes me feel alive.

I don’t think words can equivalently portray my gratitude in the moments when the right song finds me at the right time. 

Of all the days I think of you there are only seven days that make me sad. 

I feel alone but I like it that way. I guess in a way I always have. I wonder to myself if this solitude I have created for myself will every become lonesome. Not in a peaceful way but in a tragic way, an isolated way.