Sometimes, not regularly but often enough, I found myself walking under the moonlight without a set destination in mind at the oddest hours possible because I was afraid of the four walls waiting for me in the place I called home. All the while my beverage served as the perfect metaphor for the night sky, the gravitas of my situation, and the stark fear of crossing the fine line between being alone and being lonely, even if in error.
It was then, that I’d immediately call someone and hear a familiar voice or talk to a stranger instantly redeeming myself. The truth was that as much as I preferred and needed to stay alone, I never, for once, wanted to feel lonely. I have reason to believe it was the same for a lot of us; those too proud of ourselves yet susceptible to crumble under the weight of our own heads, if left unwatched for too long.
I am glad, then, for all the times I wasn’t as proud as some would believe me to be and when I had humility to accept that even black coffee, like happiness and sorrow, tasted best when shared with another human being.