"One's Own Orbit"

There’s a kind of solitude that feels less like absence and more like precision—like a tuning fork for the self.

For those of us who’ve grown up alone and spent our best chapters that way, friendship isn’t just difficult; it’s foreign terrain with weather we never quite learned to read. Sharing a home is chaos unless you see the other person like you see yourself—every twitch and mood mapped like your own heartbeat.

This morning, I find myself weary of most company. Not out of anger, not out of harm. Just a quiet preference. A city full of strangers offers more comfort than a room with someone I’m supposed to know. Maybe it’s the one-off connection I crave—a passing glance, a shared laugh, and then blessed silence.

So you tell yourself you’re OK. And maybe you are. It’s not antisocial. It’s not broken. You simply relish your own presence more than anyone else's. If given the choice, you'd choose yourself—and that choice isn't rooted in ego, but in clarity.
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Still… love lives in the heart. You carry the people you care about, even when you need space from their presence.