Being Alone Is Fine With Me

There were a handful of times when I went out alone to think; As it was, the Wetlands were at the end of the Street, next to the Creek. Sometimes I'd take my bike, just to race in the wind for a minute. I leant on the post of the fence line, wondering about my future again, Staring at cats in a grass field, hating myself for my faults. I thought I could be better, but I looked down, and backwards. The next time, I lay on the boardwalk under the benches— Looking for tadpoles in the shade, and playing music inside my head. My mind fielded seeds of doubt, and roots grew wildly into my foundation. The third time, I sat on a bench, overlooking cattails in bloom, Watching red-bellied black birds swoop and call, and daydreaming. I fought the delusions as they appeared in sight, feeling, and sound. I wanted love so many times; as I stared at the sun setting behind the distant hill. Waving grasses and small birds chirping in the momentary quiet of my mind. Waiting on a bench for an imaginary friend to arrive, making plans to hold hands.