Looking out the window of my local bakery cafe everything is covered in a powdery white snow. Roads are slushed over from traffic trying to push through. The skies are a cloudless steel gray. I’ve positioned myself back towards the wall by the window. I can see the entire room with the laptop serving as my shield from anyone here. I can appreciate the weather outside and the sweet pastry on my tongue. Headphones are prominent with my hat’s brim dipped low. From here it’s safe. There’s a slight chill coming from poorly sealed window but this is where I chose to sit in a mostly empty cafe while eating my baked goods. The illusion of being out in the world while remaining disconnected from direct communication with anyone. This is my comfort zone, a refuge in the emotional wasteland that I’ve become. Some here probably think I’m pretentious recluse being self-indulgent or moody. It’s hard not to be aware of it, but it really is harder to be anything different. This is who I am.

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