Alone but not really

What if today I only talked to the cats?

And just like that you are grown up—an adult— and you live alone and have achieved self-sufficiency. You don’t need anyone, so to speak. You come home to no one. Save your chatty cats that are sometimes so needy it makes it hard to do anything. And you think, with their little thumb-like toes, they are this close to being able to put dinner on the table. And wouldn’t that be nice? But you carry the load alone. And you crack the can while they harmonize and you whine, to yourself and aloud, about having to decide on and prepare yet another meal. One that will inevitably have at least one cat hair snuck into it.

I feel this loneliness more keenly when I travel. When I spend time around my extended family who all seem to have long-term partners even though it feels like they just broke up with the last one or graduated college or both. I feel it when I have no one to text when I’ve landed safely, except my parents. No one monitoring my long commute back to the city. No one to open the door and say I missed you and I ordered Thai food. I hope you’re hungry.

Don’t get me wrong, I am entirely capable of taking care of myself and grateful for the level of independence I’m able to maintain. I don’t need a partner. And some days I wonder if that is really what I want. If I want the limitations and the responsibility that comes with it. And the answer that I come to is yes. For the right person. And I have to remind myself that loneliness is a semi-permanent returning condition. You can be lonely with the wrong person sitting beside you. You can be lonely in the wrong relationship. And you can be alone and know that, for now, it is the best thing for you.

Today I beg for a bolt of lightning
a crash without a sound
I read and look up the word
sibilant in the dictionary
scoff at my coffee, look around

how often do you see one person?
who is not looking to be found
but has drawn eyes nonetheless 
up from the ground

today, a woman with a sibilant 
cough orange backpack and freckles 
a man with his dark pointed nose
olive green smile, I reckon they saw
my red hair or at least the bright teal
of my jacket and especially my desire
quick to take up space in the aisle

I think they train the flight attendants
to look you in the face like that, say
smokey words that sink through carpet
they see 22D, 8B and 9C, exactly
where you are supposed to be