i'm in bed under a thick layer of blankets.
there is cinnamon apple tea in my cup
and saltine crackers on my nightstand.
other than the sound of my typing
and the slight hum from the heater,
my classical station on pandora
is the only thing that can be heard.
i'm the last one left in my apartment.
i can be as loud as i want.
blast my pulse.pump playlist and
dance like a maniac in the front room
or play my guitar
and sing at the top of my lungs,
but i'm not.
it's nice to be surrounded by silence.
it's comforting to shuffle around a quiet apartment,
knowing i can speak
but keeping my thoughts inside,
treating them like secrets i can't even share with the walls.
it's not as lonely as i thought it'd be,
sitting in an empty apartment,
surrounded by boxes of my packed up life.
it's not lonely at all.