When some people write about singleness, it sounds like they’re codependent on an imaginary person. I read stories of longing and waiting and tears and I just don’t relate. I hear tales of emptiness though hope holds steady, or resolution despite hope-on-the-rocks, and I raise my eyebrows. I don’t doubt that these words matter and are true, true, true for people.
But I don’t get it. Maybe I am a sociopath, but I just don’t get it.
