I like my independence. I like knowing that I control my day-to-day, my schedule, my choices. I like knowing that the people or things that do take up my time are there because I allow it, and if one gets too onerous I can block it out. These are some of the many reasons I choose to stay single.

But there are times, oh, there are times.

Times when the quiet of my apartment does get to me just a little. Times when I wouldn’t mind there being someone to talk to, someone to be cute for, someone to intrigue just a little.

When I’m down I do appreciate the solitude. I prefer my breakdowns to not have witnesses. And we all have them–anyone who’s never had a low moment and just lost it, completely and utterly broken, are either lying, overdue, or seriously medicated against such things. It’s natural.

But then there are nights when it’s quiet, calm, and you don’t really need anything from yourself or anything else. Those are the nights when it would just be wonderful to lean your head on a sympathetic shoulder and appreciate that particular moment. That’s what I miss: Permission to lean.