You were not built for this. You are soft and your bones are brittle. You are feeling community slip through your fingers. The loneliness you used to embrace now seeps into your bones like rain through a sweatshirt.
The silence is the thing that grates the most.
No longer am I surrounded on three sides. No more will the makerspace lights be on late into the night unless I am the one to leave them. I can’t believe that I used to complain about them.
I feel like there are eyes watching me when I leave these walls. That I am being followed.
I know it’s dumb and that I’m being paranoid, but the lack of people in these rooms reminds me too much of the abandoned halls of Foss.
I know tomorrow I will see people. I will see my family and a friend. I know that Saturday will be the day that my friends will return.
But Saturday seems so far away.
And as I check my deadbolt through my tear-filled eyes for the third time tonight, I have to remind myself that contented loneliness is learned, and that I have forgotten it.
Speaking To Raindrops 