At the end of every day.
At the end of every day I live my life alone. Regardless of who may be within these walls, I face myself alone.
Alone with my joy. Alone with my sorrow. Alone with my triumphs. Alone with my mistakes. At the end of every day I only have myself to sleep with. Peacefully or restlessly. When all the people and things that have filled my day are lost in sleep, I am left with myself. When I’ve laid aside their hopes and dreams, I’m left looking at my own. Squarely in the face. With no interruption. No masking. No distraction.
At the end of every day, what do I see? How do I cope with myself once all the other coping is finally tucked into bed? Am I proud? Am I content? Am I filled with joy and peace? At the end of every day I live my life alone. I face the realities my own life alone. I can’t live squandering it. And still know I’ve lived.