I don’t have room for you, because I’ll always be here for me.
I like sitting in my coffee shops, I like my morning workouts and I like my cooking.
I like going to the grocery store, alone.
I like buying myself flowers; sunflowers, lilies, tulips.
I like walking around museums, alone. Free to stop and read and re-read the plaques next to the paintings. Free to study the artwork in front of me. Free to lazily move through passageways and different floors.
I like sitting in parks, alone. Packing a picnic, my camera, a book. Dozing off in the shade.
I like my music taste. Sitting in my room, listening to old records, alone.
You like what you think you know about me. You think I’m intriguing. You think you’re interested. If I decide to let you in, you’ll see that there is not really a place for you. There is no space for you to set up your feelings and emotions, to camp out in my text messages and my life. You’ll see that I like my independence, I like my alone time.
The thing is, I don’t have room for you, because I’ll always be here for me.
I like treating myself to fancy dinners. Grabbing a glass of wine at a restaurant on the way home. Stopping to look at something for however long I please.
I like small talk with strangers, long rides on the subway.
I like going to the movie theater, alone. Buying Snowcaps and shutting out the world around me.
I love myself, I love my independence, and I love this specific time period in my life. Simply because, I don’t have to have room for you; I’m here for me.
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