The Thoughts I Had While Alone

Story  ·  Kanna  ·  Sep 15, 2025

Candlelight swaying, we lay side by side on the bed.
Cheek resting against your chest, you asked — tell me what you used to think about, living here alone.
In the quiet, I found myself searching honestly for the words.

While living alone, what I thought about most was — can I really protect this place?
The library keeps breaking down, from damp, from storms, and alone, I could never fix it fast enough.
Wipe the floor, and by the next day the stain has spread again. Clear the dust, and vines are already growing back in through the window.
It felt, sometimes, like my effort might not mean anything at all, and something in me nearly gave way.

But somehow, I couldn't quite let go.
Touching a fragment of a bookshelf, or a trace someone had left behind —
something deep in my chest would say: if I don't protect this, the light itself goes out with it.

At night, I played the piano.
The sound of the keys echoed off the walls, and it felt like the library itself was holding my loneliness for me.
In those moments only, I could think — I'm allowed to be here.

What I really wanted, the whole time, was for someone to say it's okay.
But saying that out loud felt like admitting weakness, so I stayed quiet instead.

—I can talk about it now, only because I'm in your arms.