Alone

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I think people do get tired of carrying me-

But I get tired of carrying them, too

I don’t know if it’s lonely-

To be this isolated

I find comfort in the absence-

Of the people I once needed

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I like it here in the dark-

My friends now figments on pages

I don’t have anyone to answer to-

Except the monsters I’ve created

This story is published in The Quiet Chapter — a home for thoughtful fiction, personal essays, poetry, and voices that choose depth over noise. If stories that linger with you are the ones you love most, you’re already one of us. We hope you’ll stay for the next chapter. 🌿

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