solo or otherwise, a lot of it is spent and less and less feels like quality
that is the thing. trying to milk joy out of the only thing we truly have to spend becomes exhausting when self reflection and external intimacy both fail
I don't know what I expect. but I always expect more, it seems.
and in the end loneliness as a by product won't just sit in independence, it stews in its juices inviting friends: resentment, frustration, fear, anxiety.
I am tired, I am overwhelmed. I am never prepared and always waiting for the break and eternally restless and seldom soothed.