Is it truly that rare to wish for more alone time? 

I relish every second I can spend alone. It is far too normal to find me sitting on the floor in front of my full-length mirror with my back and head resting on the foot of my bed. I stare at myself, background music a dull buzz in my brain. 

I miss that. I miss randomly singing a line of a song. I miss talking to myself about anything and everything. I miss acting out scenes in my book. I miss randomly screaming. 

I have been increasingly busy lately. Between basketball practice and homework, it’s hard to find time to fully relax. It may seem as though I am constantly alone to those in my household, but in my mind, I will never be alone enough.

However, there are moments when I yearn for human interaction; I adore the memories made when in the company of my friends. I hold each moment dear to my soul. But can anything compare to being alone? In my eyes, the answer will almost always be no. 

I feel as though I am the true me when I sit within the four walls I call my bedroom. The many memorandums around my room speak to who I am. When I am with others, I find myself mirroring their reactions, their humor, trying to make myself desirable in their eyes; but alone, there is no one to mimic. 

I am constantly told—by my little sister—that I spend quite too much time alone. I feel as though I am in the presence of others far too much, but I’m not saying I abhor all interactions with other human beings. 

School is also enjoyable because of the social interactions. I have made countless friends through school. For example, a newer friend of mine and I share a fifth hour, and without that, I wouldn’t have met another person who freaks out over mundane things and keeps up with the pace of my conversations. I have grown in my friendships through school; every class brings new people and new types of dialogue. 

But at the end of the day, I am ready for my hour and a half break before basketball. I make a sandwich, blast music, and simply relish in the not-so-quiet quiet. I get home another two hours or so later, and I spend some time with my family before finding my solace in my bedroom—the four grey walls with random pictures. 

I find myself once again sitting in front of my white-rimmed, full-length mirror. In the background, there is music playing, but I couldn’t name any song that comes on. Here is where I find peace. 

Peace in myself. 

Peace in the world. 

Peace in the chaos of my siblings and family. 

Peace in the drama that comes with friendship. 

In front of my mirror, alone, I see the truest me that I have met in my fifteen years.