I was recently called “single”.
Because now that I am no longer married, I am not someone else’s “other half”.
I am no longer a pair. Like shoes.
I am a single sock. Lost in the dryer.
I am unmarried and “not in a stable sexual relationship”. (You don’t want to get me started on deconstructing that one! )
I AM NOT SINGLE.
I am Solo.
I do not want a ring on it. I am my own Precious.
I am Solo. I am unaccompanied. Like that part of the musical piece where everyone stops and holds their breath.
I am Solo. Like the red cup that is deep and hides a bottle of beer. (Until your Mexican mom finds it and kicks everyone out of your Sweet 16).
I am Solo. I walk my own path. Fast, loud (I stomp), sometimes looking down, sometimes walking into shit.
No one gets to judge me.
I am Solo. I can love with my heart wide open. Or closed.
I can fuck the way my body wants & needs.
I can touch with my soul and gaze into yours with my own eyes.
I am Solo. I have been my whole life.
And so have you.