It crunches in the morning between bread and butter, it creaks with the cupboard door when you take out your mug. It lies next to you on the pillow when no one is writing. Sometimes loneliness is not a tragedy, but simply a form of existence, temporary, like winter. It doesn't bite if you make friends with it. It even becomes cozy — when you accept that you don't have to call someone all the time, that you can be “on pause,” and that it's not a failure, but space.
I often think that loneliness is a kind of mirror. It shows you what you don't want to see, and that can be useful. I've learned a lot about myself on quiet days like these. That I'm stubborn. That I get tired of loud conversations. That I don't always need company to feel alive. Sometimes all it takes is a window, a cup of cocoa, and a thought that takes you on the most unexpected inner journey.