at a table for one

I took a sip of my coffee,
letting the boldness settle in my chest,
but it did nothing for the heaviness inside me.  
 
Around me, life moved in warm conversations
hands reaching, voices blending, laughter spilling.

A couple sat across from me,  
hands intertwined, lost in their own little world. 
A group of friends burst into laughter,  
loud, carefree, like they had never known sadness. 
A man by the window stared at his phone,  
expression unreadable—maybe waiting, maybe wishing. 
 
And then there was me.
At a table for one.
 
Sitting alone in a crowded café,  
wondering if anyone else felt like this,  
if someone else was faking smiles,  
blinking away the weight behind their eyes.  
 
I tapped my fingers on the table,
trying to ground myself.

I was here.
I was breathing.

And maybe, for today, that was enough.

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