I was ten to fifteen pounds lighter. Clothes hung off of my body. I imagined myself in the second dimension, my bones the shoulders that could not hunch any further.
I ate less. I was happier less. I cared more.
I was tired. I was lonely (I am lonely now). But I am not alone.
It was not sustainable. I was envious - of food, of sustainability, of whole-ness. Of that feeling waking up next to somebody (there is nobody but myself).
I thought more. I drank as much. My misery was palpable, leaving a faint, discolored stain around the rim long after it had dissapeared.
I needed more. I wanted more. I was lighter, but I was alone. I am still alone. I am capable of love. The kind that hurts and overwhelms and makes you cry and laugh and that's ok.