Alone

I'm sitting by myself at a restaurant.  And it's not even Starbucks.

This does not always bode well for me.  The last time I did this, I ventured out at the early end of happy hour, and I found myself eating breadsticks at the bar near a man, also alone, who was clipping his fingernails in public.

(With such hygiene habits, it was shocking that he was alone. I'm sure you agree.)

But I am alone.  I choose to be. 

Alone is a choice.
Alone is brave.
There's always a companion waiting.

A person,
safe or otherwise;

a bottle,
prescribed or not;

a website,
solicited or un;

a vice,
claimed or unnamed;

an object of affection,
inanimate or personified.



I have all of these.
Alone can actually be hard to find.
The real deal variety, that is.

Alone doesn't mean lonely. 

Besides, today's alone comes with a half-order of salty, soft pretzels. 
And a diet coke with lime.

And I always have my words.