let lemons be angry

I haven't had many thoughts lately. I haven't actually done much lately. Out of nowhere placidity has come, wiping out the madness of that project-filled holiday; now I just want to sit and be. So I have been having dinners at home, meals catching up with school friends, stretched mornings refusing to wake up, proper conversations with my parents, long hours coaxing the printer to work, longer hours doing work, and musical bus rides that I appreciate very much.

No butterflies, but no need for butterflies either. I'm sorry too.

There was one afternoon I went for a picnic by myself. I bought a sandwich, a drink, and a square of chocolate, and walked down the hill to the lake. I spread out papers so passersby would think I was studying. But I was just doodling, and nobody walked past. I'd forgotten to bring my phone, as i've been prone to do of late.

And sitting there in the absolute still under the tree, I realised that solitude was what I've always known. I've always been the only child, the only art student, the only ao maths student, the only one stepping out to do something by myself. I have many groups that I belong to, but I always find myself truly myself in the mirrors of airport bathrooms, where I don't belong anywhere. I can't say that I want that changed. Being the Only has become all that I want to be, in a strange way that is neither sinister nor romantic.

I wish I could tell my heart not to worry, that I will plan well for it and the future will see better picnics. But I can't decide if better means more or less solitude.