Singularity.

Society seems dead set on causing its single citizens distress, unable to process that self-love could also be a path that leads to happiness.

Placated, and often patronized for being on one's own and not one-half of a pair, as though dining alone is pitiful, and is a fate worse than illnesses that are rare.

One is the loneliest number—our relatives and coworkers remind us like clockwork every day, as they poke, prod then pry, and ask questions why "great guys like us" wake up alone, instead of with some babe.

Despite my attempts to explain that I've finally reconnected with the boy who I lost long ago, their eyes go blank, and they stare open-mouthed,  convinced that I've run out of hope.

After desperately dating for fifteen years, and regularly being reduced to tears, I honestly enjoy my own company, for once, and no longer fear the absence of my peers. 

Still, we are programmed to chase unrealistic interpretations of romance, Instead of being encouraged to first learn how to hold and warm our own hands. 

When every culture conditions us to covet our own versions of their fairy tales, is it any wonder why sadness prevails once our fantasies inevitably fail? 

If we were raised to love ourselves first, we would never forget our worth, and only accept the kind of love that lifts us up, the kind of love that we deserve.