I thought a picture was worth a thousand words. They're meant to remind you of memories and don't let you forget that you are surrounded by people who love and support you.
I walked into the sitting room of my dreadfully boring apartment on Sun Street, a pitiful name for a road. I dragged myself toward the lumpy couch standing in the middle of the room. Fresh grooves in the wood flooring mocked me as I traced with my eyes their path to the feet of the couch.
A picture was tilted against a dirty coffee cup. Taking its cold frame into my hands, I stared at the people in the picture. A big family lined up in an immaculate garden. They were glowing with happiness and the sun illuminated their skin. A familiar girl stood far to the left. She looked the same as the others at first glance, but a closer look revealed a shadow in her eyes.
It was me.
Me and my family in Aunt Beth's yard at a family get together.
Mom always told me that a picture was worth a thousand words. She gave me the picture so that I would always remember that I am surrounded by people who love and support me.
I glared at the picture again and finally dropped it on the table with a loud bang, sending the coffee cup onto the rug.
If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one must be broken.
Indeed, looking at the picture didn't bring back the laughter and stories shared with the family.
It didn't remind me of my supporters and loved ones. The picture just stared back at me in silence. It reminded me that I was completely and utterly alone.
Well, there was still someone or, more accurately, something: my cat, Harper, a terrible nuisance who passed the time staring unsatisfied at me.
As if in cue, she sauntered into the room and took a seat across from me on the wing chair. She paused to look at me, her eyes questioning my presence, before resuming to cleaning her delicate paws.
A sudden suffocating feeling filled my chest and I raised myself from the couch to go on a walk.
I was taken aback by the icy wind outside, frost creeping through my thin jacket.
I strolled down the road and made my way to the bakery on the corner.
Caitlin, a bubbly intern, greeted me at the counter. She cheerfully wrapped up a croissant and handed me a steaming coffee.
I proceeded to a bench in the nearby park and settled into the fall scenery. I watched the people go by. Businessmen barking into their phones, parents struggling to tame their children, friends catching the latest gossip.
My thoughts drifted back to my life at home.
I had always longed to move away, far far away. I had counted the days I had left until I could leave everything behind and start over. I had promised myself that it would be different this time around; I would have fun and finally have friends. I would laugh a lot and finally be happy.
But here I was, sitting alone in the park until I made my way back to my empty apartment.
You see, after leaving home, I realized nothing was going to change.
I was the same girl just in another town.
After many failed attempts at turning over a new leaf, I accepted my fate. I realized that I wanted to be alone. I wasn't fooling myself anymore. The life I wanted for myself was someone Else's life for some other girl.
I quietly ate my croissant and washed down the last crumbs with a final gulp of coffee. I stood up, shaking life back into my frozen feet, and walked back to Sun Street.
The heavy door of my apartment slid open with a long squeal and the dim lights flickered on. Harper shortly acknowledged my arrival with a stare and sauntered to her empty food bowl, scratching at the rim with anticipation.
I fed her and warmed a large helping of oatmeal for myself before stretching myself across the couch under a blanket, ready to dive into a good book.
Yes, I was alone.
My loved ones and supporters had drifted away long ago.
In fact, I sometimes wondered whether they were ever there.
But I chose to be alone.
I chose to be completely and utterly and beautifully alone.
