three empty chairs

I’m sitting at the kitchen table for the fifteenth day in a row. I open the blinds and get distracted by the people passing on the sidewalk that are doing more than me. they’re laughing and pushing children in strollers and walking to the nearby park to play tennis. I’m listening to that playlist I made that used to make me want to drink coffee in the woods next to the river and fall in love. now it just makes me want to drink coffee and cry. it’s the fourth playlist I’ve made like this. I just sit at my kitchen table and wince at the coffee grinds at the bottom of my mug. this table has four chairs but only one ever gets used. I can’t decide if I wish the other three were full or if there was only one to begin with so I wouldn’t look so out of place. I thought I was tired of being alone but I think I am just tired of staring at empty chairs. tired of people leaving. I think I am just tired. I miss the days when crying was a surprise, rather than a routine. sometimes I’ll turn on a podcast just to hear people converse with each other, rather than being deafened by the surrounding silence.

even with the volume up, these chairs at the table stay empty.