Solitude, love, running and, eventually, me

I’ve never been good at being alone. I’ve always needed somebody there, something to fill the void. Anything to keep me from myself. Many nights I sat up wishing for someone to come, to fix me, to sweep me off my feet and love me like I was their Earth, moon and stars. For a long time, nobody came. Still, I waited.

This went on for years, and though I couldn’t say exactly when, I’d say it probably started around the time I began middle school. I lost my elementary friends, lost my father and lost my childhood. Loneliness settled into my bedroom like an old friend. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and neither did anyone else. But Loneliness — always creaking up from the floorboards my mother had so carefully laid by hand in the attic where I slept — had her way with me.

As I got olde