come, sit by me II

did you want to sit here for a bit? i’d like it if you did. even if it's only for a little while. there’s plenty of room and i could really use the company. here, let me move over. we don’t have to talk or anything. we can just sit.

sometimes, it’s hard to sit on big red all by myself. his already generous lap becomes even more expansive, and i feel very small. the cushions and the crocheted blanket and the coffee table try to fill the space as best they can to make me feel better, but they’re not always enough. when it’s quiet, the sounds of my thoughts can bounce off the walls like basketballs pounding through an empty gymnasium, so maybe having you fill this vacant spot just beside me might muffle their reverberations. we could try it and see.

sometimes, i don’t like sitting alone. especially when i’m nervous. or anxious. or frightened. or feeling lost. at those times, on this oafy sofa, in this room that starts to seem cavernous, sadness can stretch out with ease alongside its best friends, doubt and worry. and there’s no one else around to tell fear, “sorry, pal. this seat is taken. now scram!”

sometimes, i don’t like sitting alone. especially when i look around at the world and feel that, somehow, i'm the only one who’s by herself. that everyone else seems to have someone to talk to. someone who’ll listen. someone to hold their hand. someone who’ll sit with them on their comfy couch, share their crocheted blanket and simply be there.

even though i’ve learned how to sit alone, and how to be on my own, and how to keep the tears at bay when they start to rise, and how to tell myself the things i need to hear (even if i don’t always believe them), i sometimes still wish someone else was sitting here with me, speaking those comforting words. or putting an arm around my shoulder. or making me laugh so i don't cry. or just being present to help me through if i need a hand. because i think that would be nice.

come, sit by me. and tell me everything will be okay.