I Know How.

i don't mind being alone. i'm comforted by silence and the sound of my feet shuffling across the hardwood floors. i know how to be alone. i grew up alone, huddled around books and papers, murmuring to stuffed animals to drown out louder, hostile voices i was too young to hear. i know how to be alone, but there are days...days when the silence is too loud and my hands are clumsy and incapable.

i'll slip into a dress, revel in the fabric as it brushes past my hips, sits calmly on my waist. i slowly slip my arms through the open spaces, working my hands down to the start of the zipper. at a certain point i can go no further. i wrench and turn, grimace and twist. just a few more inches and i would be complete, but i can't cross the distance of my back. i sit on the edge of the bed in frustration, finally ripping the dress off, cursing as i rustle through drawers, kicking shoes across the floor, and stomping indignation into the floorboards.

i don't mind being alone. i know how to be alone. i have thrown away all the dresses.