Each day I walk around lost in my own home.
I always thought of myself as a girl of many desires. Most of them are harmless, such as my addiction to certain snacks and my inclination towards specific places. I want expensive books and pretty clothes and the right kind of guy to love me. The acquisition of these worldly things leads me to believe I am whole.
For two minutes, as I'm munching on this burger.
For ten seconds, as the cashier rings up the cute shirt I picked off the rack and I reach over the counter to hand her the money.
For a second, when his hand grazes mine.
Only now has it dawned on me that I ultimately only want one thing: I want to be wanted.
Because I have always been shunned by everybody. They were always too busy or too concerned with their own lives or I simply wasn't good enough. And I always have to plead for them to listen. I have to be nearing a meltdown for them to turn their heads. They don't even notice when they cut my sentences off.
And I'm always looking for a place where I belong. Maybe it's time to call off the search. Because being alone seems to suit me better.
I can't wait until I have a place of my own. I could decorate my own walls and watch my favorite shows-nobody would be there to tell me to switch the channel because they couldn't understand my humor or taste. I could listen to whatever music I want on full blast-nobody would hiss at me to quiet down. I could eat whatever I want and spend my money under my own terms without being made to feel guilty. I'd have my own save haven.
Maybe then loneliness wouldn't taste so much like betrayal.
Maybe then people would actually see how much time I spend in my own little world-when I finally bring it to life.
Maybe then they'd miss me, and maybe then I wouldn't care.
