I have to be okay, again, with being alone. In the still quiet of darkness.
I have to relearn the art of loving writing, not merely for the off chance of readership or publication, but for myself, to get out of my head all the thoughts that plague me, if for no other reason than as a testament that I existed.
I have to relearn how to enjoy my own company. It was easier when I was younger… what happened? Does it get easier? I hope so.
I got lost in the first book of a series I hadn’t read since elementary school. I found myself pressed between the pages.
I told my dad last night, “lie to me and tell me adulthood gets easier.” He did, though he was sincere in his answer. I don’t know yet if I believe him. I want to believe him.