alone is what my
mother taught me
and what everyone
else told me not to
be afraid of.

they said i had to
learn to live with
myself.

because myself
is all i’ve got.

and here alone is.
and this is what i
should know. this
keeps me from
wrapping my arms
around the waist
of often nameless
mistakes.

alone keeps me
from telling you
about it after it’s over,
and alone keeps you
from having to pretend
you’re not just a little
disappointed.

and maybe,
disgusted.

alone makes me new.
alone keeps me from
getting old to you.

alone lets me construct
all the words i ever
wanted to say to you.

the problem is,
i run out of supplies
as soon as i even
start to say them.

these walls contain
so much light. i keep
it here for company,
and maybe, even, as a
beacon for you to notice.

maybe, but,
i doubt you ever will.

just know that it hurts
that much more when,
in the dead of night.
i hear your footsteps
outside, as if waiting
for me to convince you
to come in.

and then,
in that same instant,
deciding against it.