I’m the kind of single that freezes a loaf of bread, because I know that it will spoil before I eat it all by myself.
I’m the kind of single that sleeps like a starfish, because sprawling feels right for right now.
I’m the kind of single that requires no company at a restaurant.
I’m the kind of single that has lost my fear of dying alone from choking on a sandwich and replaced that fear with the joy of eating a peanut butter spoon for dinner. . .because it’s just me, after all.
I’m the kind of single that has stopped asking “What’s wrong with me,” and has started asking “What’s next?”
I’m the kind of single that has replaced “Maybe one day. . .” with “Hey, why not today?!”
I’m the kind of single that craves time with organic friends and loathes small talk with saccharin acquaintances.
I’m the kind of single that grins at your tilted, concerned look when you ask, “are you seeing anyone yet?” I grin because I know things–things about myself that I didn’t used to believe.
I know that I deserve to enjoy this delicious alone time, because I used to give it (my time, myself, and well. . .”it”) away so freely. I know that I like me. And that you like me. And that there is (probably) a God that likes me. I know that it makes you uncomfortable to think of me, wild and free and a certain kind of single, but I’m wearing this singleness like the coziest pair of Easypants that were ever made.
Because it feels right for me to be here right now. Just me. And my mountain of pillows.