Living alone is comforting. You get to do what you want without the risk of someone interrupting you. You can make a mess and not be bothered to clean it up, because no one can tell you what to do.

You can tell people to leave whenever you want. Your home is where you do things your way without consequences. . . Sometimes.

I used to like living alone. Reading books in the silence. Sitting by the window and watching the people below me live their lives without a care in the world. Seeing their faces, bright with joy as they walked with their friends, boyfriend or girlfriend. Husband or wife. Children or grandchildren.

That was what comforted me at times. Knowing that others would still be happy after. That eventually, once I left, they'd find peace. But now, it made me want to carve my own heart out and put it on a silver platter.

Staring out this window like I had a thousand times over, I watched. Seeing new or familiar faces of people I'd never meet. The silent laughter from afar. I longed to feel it again, even if it would be for just a moment.

My phone buzzed on the stand next to me, my attention on the couple on the street straying as I picked up my phone. A text message from my mom.

"I miss you. Text me soon."

My heart broke more as I saw the dozens of text messages I hadn't been bothered to respond to. I was being a bitch for doing this to her, I knew that. But I didn't want her see me the way I was. The pain I was constantly in.

Maybe I should text her.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, staring at the letters with a desolate expression. My thumbs moved slowly over the letters, pausing at the blue arrow.

For a moment, I wanted to delete the message. To block her, maybe. But I wasn't that cold. I shut my eyes slowly, exhaling as I clicked send.

"I'm sorry for ignoring you. We should catch up soon."

I set my phone down and pulled my legs close to my chest, resting my cheek in my knees as I looked out the window again. The sky looked gloomy, now. Like it understood that it wasn't my day. That it knew I was finally coming to terms with my future.

My phone buzzed again.

"I would love that. Let's meet tomorrow at my coffee shop?"

I gave my mom an 'ok.' Not really knowing how to ever respond to texts like that. A soft smile appeared on my face as I looked back out the window, watching the city streets become more and more crowded as everyone started getting off of work.

☀︎︎

The day had started to drift by slower as I watched the water in its pot start to boil, humming quietly. I blew a strand of hair out of my face, walking to the small dining room next to the kitchen and sat down.

Patience was not a virtue of mine. I didn't like waiting. Mainly because the one thing I was usually waiting around on was death. With it coming sooner than expected, patience starts to become a thing you fear. Loathe, maybe.

Bubbles popped repeatedly in the kitchen, a sizzle telling me the water was boiling over. I got up quickly, lowering the heat and dumped macaroni into the water. I stirred it around for a little while before sitting back down, looking through my phone.

I didn't have a lot. Instagram was the one thing I was on the most, looking at my friends posts or going on the recommendation feed. Usually it was of random strangers posing in front of exotic places, smiling wide for the camera with sunglasses covering their eyes.

I couldn't help but smile. Because at one point, that had been me. Traveling instead of going to college with a successful job at a young age. Now, I was sitting on debt in an apartment I could no longer afford, praying that my landlord wouldn't kick me out.

I walked back to my macaroni, turning the stove off and grabbed my strainer, dumping it in before placing it back into the pot.

And as I sat in the dining room, staring down at the depressing bowl of macaroni and cheese, I knew I couldn't keep doing this.

I can't just sit in my house, waiting for the day somebody picked up my bucket and threw it over the ledge, expecting me to go with it.

I had to live again. At least try and be happy with the few months I had left.

And if it didn't work, who cared? At least I tried.

I ate what I had put in my bowl before going to stuff the rest away, pausing when I realized the mess my apartment was in. I could start here. With a clean home.

And that's what I did. I spent the rest of my night cleaning. Scrubbing old dirty dishes, cleaning my damn toilet, rubbing every clear surface possible in Windex. Where ever there was a spot, it disappeared when I walked by.

It was 1 AM, and now my apartment was finally clean. I looked around with a small, victorious smile before walking to my desk and flipped open my laptop.

Maybe I could get a new job. I had been surviving off of my mom and my last few paychecks. It was time to finally fucking change. I had spent the last five months in this apartment with no job and no friends. If I only worked for a few more months, at least I did something instead of use my mom.

I applied for four different jobs. They weren't big ones, but they paid enough to get me through rent and food. Hopefully it would be enough.

There was still that part of me that was screaming to contact my friends again. But how would I text them?

"Hey. Sorry for completely ghosting you. I'm actually going to be dead in a few months and want to rekindle our friendship before I kick the bucket." That sounded shitty. I probably would ignore myself if I sent that.

So, I decided to just start with a clean apartment and new job.

I'd work up to friends eventually.