I take pleasure in my own company.
Sometimes too much, I suppose.
The joy I derive from imaginative
confines becomes a paradox.
A longing for someone outside of myself
slips through the cracks of my psyche.

So few friends require nothing of me.
So many acquaintances exhaust me.
Therefore, I rely on myself for entertainment.
I learned it long ago when no siblings
came into my life.

I like to drive alone, shop alone.
I preserve observations and take
mental notes from noticed situations.
So much humor in this quirky world
of humanity, and sadness balances the scale.

I can be an extrovert for limited intervals,
when I have collected hours of solitude
to sustain me through gatherings.
Then I go back into my own devices
and gather up minutes, hours, my own space
to carry with me once more.

To prepare myself for the inevitable groups
where I might, just might discover a friend.