Alone in Harlem

Being alone is sublime, but being lonely is melancholy. When you are alone, you have the temporary feeling of being concealed in your own happiness. You give yourself a chance to focus on yourself and nobody else. While you still have the benefits of having luxuries in life, you can spend time with yourself whenever you wish. People who are alone lead happy, bright lives. They have great friends, perfect families, and excel at everything they do. They are alone because they enjoy the comfort of focusing on themselves in their own skin; their well being.

When you are lonely, you long for gratitude. You are so crestfallen with your miserable life that the only thing you think about is something bright miraculously appearing in your life. You are sitting in a pile of your own dejection; you’re thoughts of misery clouding your actions and sense of thought. When you are lonely, you wish you could be alone. You wish you could enjoy being isolated.

Every night at 10:00 pm I would lie down on my twin-sized mattress and listen to the sound of the door to the coffee shop slam shut as if the person who closed the place was fuming with anger every night. By 10:01, that coffee shop was empty of people and emotion. It was alone, all by its lonesome, and while it had company during the day, it was able to enjoy itself for the span of the night. I remember when I was alone. When I lived two miles south of Harlem, I would have weird tendencies to do such things, to lie down and listen to the noises that people made. It fascinated me that people were capable of making noises for everybody to listen to. It helped me reassure myself that people were moving around in the world, while everything inside of me felt calm and still. Every night at 10:0...

... middle of paper ...

...ngings; from “Bill”, my stuffed dog, to my three pairs of jean shorts. I walked back outside only to see the woman standing in the exact same position as she was before I went to gather my things.

“I’m ready,” I said, “let’s go home.”

I wasn't sure if I was making the right decision, but at the time I felt as if I had to escape my loneliness. I couldn't let an opportunity like this slide. My mother was letting me in. She was ready to build a relationship with me. My Aunt Lily refused to pay any attention to me. I had friends and a future planned out back in New York. I had nothing in Whitney, Massachusetts.

I made the right decision to return home. At 10:00 pm that night, I lied down on my twin-sized mattress and listened to the sound of the door to the coffee shop slam shut. By 10:01, that coffee shop was empty of people and emotion. It was alone, just like I was.