Alone Time
Sometimes, I write like this.
About my day.
Like
Waking up to an empty apartment.
Making a cup of coffee.
And then
Deciding I want hot chocolate instead.
I love the apartment.
The whiteness of the walls, the creaminess of the couch.
The location.
The cozy.
It is home.
But not so much when the building happens
And thoughts are disrupted
By a sound of a hammer
Or of falling metal sheets.
But it’s a holiday today.
And it just rained.
So, I begin to write.
Each stroke begins with a thought
And ends with a pat
On the back.
Sometimes of reassurance.
Most days of relief.
I write about goals
And promises
And dreams
And plans
And why I am so in love with you
And why you frustrate me
And why I sometimes want to leave
And how I changed my mind about being alone forever.
And
Letting
Love
In.
And a smile forms on my face.
I take a pause and remember yesterday
Or was it this early morning?
My head buried in pillows
That I’ve sprayed with lavender
Telling myself to sleep, sleep sleep
When my body is aching to hold you
Because you made a mistake
But we are miles away.
So I sit still and console myself.
Me
And the presence
Of emptiness.
And silence.
And I hold myself tightly
Say a prayer
Whisper softly that you will be okay.
And that this alone time
Is for me to
Learn to live
With mistakes and forgiveness
And waking up the next day
Refreshed and filled with
Hope
And
Vigour
And
Perhaps
Even
Love.
There were lurches in my heartbeat,
Voices in my head,
Telling me to calm down,
And
To
Breathe.
Soften.
Unfurl.
Unravel.
Unwind.
And
Live.
Mikka Wee 