I’ve always been the new kid
in a school that never lets out.
Thirty years late to the lunchroom
still clutching a tray of awkward silence
and a carton of “please like me.”
I sit alone,
not because I’m a freak
but because the chairs around me
never seem to stay full.
It’s not rejection.
It’s not drama.
It’s just absence.
Just empty.
And don’t get it twisted—
this isn’t some sob story set to sad strings.
I’m not writing a song called
pity me pretty, I’m all alone.
Nah.
This is a field report
from the frontline of trying.
Trying to start conversations
that fizzle like off-brand soda.
Trying to laugh at the right jokes
at the right volume
at the right time
without sounding like I rehearsed it
in the mirror.
Trying to find someone
who doesn’t see me as a detour
or a side quest
or a weird phase
they can’t quite code into their system.
Just someone who stays.
God, just stay.
Please.
And so it’s me
and my dogs.
Clutch, who watches me
like I hung the moon,
and Sassy, who still growls
like she’s trying to scare the world away from me.
We get each other.
No awkward silences,
just tail wags and trust.
They don’t ghost me.
They don’t forget I exist
when the group chat starts hopping.
People say “just put yourself out there.”
But they don’t tell you what to do
when ‘out there’
feels like a hallway full of lockers
that never open for you.
When every “hi” dies in your throat
like it forgot the rest of the sentence.
I am not broken.
Just tired.
Of always being the one
who reaches first.
Of decoding eye contact
like a cryptic crossword
where every blank square
is another Maybe-They’ll-Like-You.
I miss laughing
with someone who gets it
before I explain it.
I miss being someone’s default.
I miss being invited
without earning it like extra credit.
But I’m still here.
Still bringing my tray to the table.
Still walking the halls of this adult high school
hoping someone says,
“Hey, you can sit with me.”
But for now,
it’s me and two hearts that beat on four legs—
curling up beside me
like they were born knowing I needed them.
I still dream of laughter
echoing in a room not built for echoes.
Of inside jokes that don’t need explaining,
of someone texting first
just to say, “thinking of you.”
And until then,
I celebrate the quiet.
The nuzzle on my knee.
The soft snore by my feet.
I may not have a table full of friends,
but I’ve got loyalty that never wavers,
love that doesn’t ask me to shrink,
and a little hope
tucked between the chew toys and the dog treats—
that someday,
someone will sit down beside me
and stay.
