You sit in your room – on your bed, at your desk – listening to the laughter coming from the kitchen. You wonder why you can’t be a part of it. You wonder why it feels so difficult to just open the door and take those few steps to the pure life you know is waiting for you.
But then you remember how the room falls silent when you walk in, how you’re not sure whether you’re truly wanted.
And so you sit, alone. On your bed. At your desk. And you listen to the laughter. And the feeling of wholesome loneliness fills your chest and you’re not sure whether those are tears springing to your eyes or if your chest is completely hollow.
I wrote this piece some time ago. It was a very real feeling for me back then, but I’m happy to say it not longer exists. I still think it’s worth publishing though.