And it's funny - you smile at men, women, children, but inside you still feel empty. Here you are, so beautiful, athletic, with a blush, and you return to your apartment, where the silence is louder than any music.

Sometimes it seems to me that I'm too used to being alone. I can make myself a delicious dinner, turn on some music, put out my skincare products, tidy up the house perfectly, and even run around the house in a towel, pretending to be a model :)) And it's kind of cool. But then I still want someone to see this "one-man show" and laugh with me.

Yesterday evening I thought again about what is more important - this quiet solitude, where no one bothers you and you can paint your nails even in the kitchen, or the presence of that very person who will irritate you, and make you laugh, and hug you with wet hair after a shower. Sometimes it seems to me that I am too picky. Well, like there are men whom I respect very much. Such real ones: with a head, with character, reliable. But it doesn’t click. And I know that I can live without this “click”, but then it will simply be… life without fireworks.

And at such moments I go out into the street in the evening, look at the windows of other people’s apartments and think - someone is arguing there now, someone is laughing, someone is dividing a pizza between two. And I am dividing a pizza between myself and myself 😄 And it seems delicious, but something is missing. Or someone.

Mari