Placeholder

Routine.

I know I have me.

Unclean.

Mess helps me just be.

Foreseen.

Just a pang to flee.

A queen:

Of nothing but glee.

So mean..

Home is here, just me.

Such sheen..

How dare she run free.

Unclean..

Their spoken decree.

Self-seen!

My beauty for me!

Don’t lean..

I built this home, see?

Come clean!

No one here cares, flee!

He’s keen?

My placeholder is threatened by this advancement of intrigue.

Uh-oh.

I made Me, Myself, and I quite comfortable in our solitude.

The emptiness is not so heavy, the passenger seat of my truck holds my precious dog and my stuffed animals.

Threatening me with love is dangerous. That is not something to be taken lightly.

Where I come from, that is a death sentence.

Interminable bachelorettedom comes with it’s stigma, but me and my dog and my truck made a decision to ride that road to a final destination.

And yet…

Could a home be more?

Do these placeholders not bore?

Could two become four?

I’m constrained by cupid’s chore…

Alone, on the floor.

Four walls, locked doors.

Windows from which to spy and peer.

What am I to do with all the skills of survival I gained in my loneliness?

I thought and I think and I realize it is actions that yield feelings.

I cannot think myself out of love.

I cannot force my will upon myself to be happy alone.

Well, not forever...