My lonely experience

I work late. Not because I love it, but because it’s louder than my apartment. Emails beat silence. Deadlines beat the sound of my own thoughts. Group chats don’t ping anymore. Stories pass me by, weekend plans, inside jokes. I scroll through them like I’m watching some parallel universe where I used to belong. I’ve mastered the art of looking busy in public, so no one asks why I’m always alone. Headphones in. Eyes on my phone. Walking like I’m late for something important. The truth is, I’d rather hear the hum of fluorescent lights than the hum of my fridge at midnight. Work doesn’t judge how many nights I’ve microwaved leftovers and eaten them standing in the glow of the TV. Still. some nights hit harder. I’ll see friends walking arm in arm, or someone laughing, so loud the street notices. And I wonder, when I stopped being part of that noise. Tomorrow, I’ll tell myself again. go find people. But tomorrow will probably be another shift. Another inbox. Another way to not feel the empty.