I always wanted my own room,

I wanted to know how it feels

to be alone,

to not have to fight for keeping

the light on because I want to read,

to not have to argue about having

the air conditioner on all night,

to not have to share my things –

charger, clothes, and bags included;

But I never got my own room,

and I never knew what it’s like to be alone,

as I lay in bed last night,

sick to the stomach,

staring into the infinite darkness,

made finite only because of the ceiling,

a warm, soft hand tugged at my palm,

I wasn’t scared,

I was grateful,

because it stopped me from going on

a tangent about everything wrong with my life,

she held my hand,

not a word exchanged,

thank God for sisters,

for in that instant,

I knew that 

as long as I come home to this,

I will never have to know 

what it’s like to be alone.


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