I woke up alone this morning.
Alone makes some people bitter on Valentine’s Day.
but I’m not bitter.
I don’t wanna burn flowers, nor do I resent new lovers for loving.

I love my alone.
I choose it.
I choose the sporadic loneliness on dark mornings.
I say good morning to the empty space in my bed.
I sleep on either side, I bury myself in a good book, And I remember to text the people who love me, specially my mom.

I bask in the silence as I watch the pot of coffee drip
and I don’t hide in somebody else.

I know I’m doing myself a favor by embracing my alone.
This way, when somebody comes knocking at my quiet mornings, asking if perhaps I’d like to make two cups of coffee instead of one, I’ll remember that alone was okay.
That alone  was sometimes even great.

I’ll say “what do you have for me?” and be selfish with myself until I’m certain.
I don’t need more unkind lovers, and I don’t feel the need to fill a space.

The next person who wants to stay, will have to be dripping in something I won’t be able to resist.