I wish I could talk to you right now. No. Actually,  I wish you would talk to me right now. But for some reason, you wouldn’t. I have no idea if I did something wrong. Maybe it’s just me overthinking again. Whatever it is, I hope you’re doing well and everything’s fine.



That’s not the date as of writing this. I guess I just want to concretely remember that date because it’s the date I finally became honest to myself. Last night, for the first time ever, I admitted to myself out loud that I’m actually scared of ending up alone.

I’ve always been on the fence about it because I’m pretty great at being alone. Heck, I thrive at being alone because I’m not very good with people. I always thought that spending the rest of my life alone won’t be a big deal and it won’t be such a bad thing. I’ll be free. I’d get to do whatever the hell I want. Go wherever, leave whenever. Ultimate definition of freedom.

But I guess I gave myself too much credit. I’m just a person after all. So yes, I’ll be fine but I am shit scared. I’ll just have to find out whatever happens.