The hallway light

One glass. One plate.

I’m fine.

Friday night.

Nice dress.

Table for one

doesn’t hurt anymore.

Good job.

Good friends.

I even learned to sleep in the middle of the bed.

Nothing’s missing.

Nothing’s wrong.

So why do I

leave the hallway light on?

I’m good alone.

I’m good alone.

I built a life that fits me perfectly.

(Then why are you waiting?) (Who are you waiting for?) I’m good

alone. I swear I am.

(Someone to come home to) (Someone to come home to) So why

does being happy feel like saving you a seat?

One glass.

One plate.

…two chairs.

Sunday sun.

Coffee cold.

Someone asks: “Seeing anyone?”

I laugh.

Say no.

Change the subject

like a professional.

Nothing’s missing.

Nothing’s wrong.

Still I check my phone before I turn it off.

I’m good alone. I’m good alone.

I built a life that fits me perfectly.

(Then why are you waiting?) (Who are you waiting for?) I’m good

alone. I swear I am.

(Someone to come home to) (Someone to come home to)

So why does being happy feel like

saving you a seat?

Maybe love isn’t

the missing piece.

Maybe I’m already whole.

(Already whole) (Already home) But being whole

doesn’t mean— (You don’t want) (You don’t want) —I don’t want someone

to know me.

(Not fix you) (Not save you)

(Just know you) (Just know you)

I’M GOOD ALONE.

(We know) (We know)

I built a life that fits me perfectly.

(Let somebody in) (Let somebody in)

I don’t need you

to complete me— (No,

you don’t) (No, you don’t) I just want someone to save a

seat for me.

One glass.

One plate.

…for now. Leave the light on.