Over the past few weeks, I’ve had this personal vendetta to start being alone more.

It’s funny, the first few months post break-up, it kind of feels terrifying to be alone.

Most days you wake up and feel like you’re in a cold-plunge.

Everything you did with them, you now do alone. And worst, the memories wait for you into the shower, the bedroom, the morning coffee runs and even in your Spotify.

So I chose to cope by filling my weeks with absolutely everyone.

And then when the emotions died down, being by myself was all I wanted. However, being happy alone was a whole other ballgame.

I figured if I could master that, it help me value myself more but also make for a smoother transition when I left for London, next month.

Getting ready for the concert tonight felt like I was going on a date- however this time it felt different.

I watched my favourite shows when I arrived home instead of overthinking and doing a whole face of makeup.

I tried something new with my hair and did a full skin-care routine, leaving my skin super clean and glowy.

I curled my hair and repeated all the things I had written in marker on my mirror-  I am an amazing friend and a wonderful partner – I said it over and over and over again, like a crazy person, before I started on the next…
I can do anything I set my mind to.

On the walk over, I can feel my slinky satin skirt climbing up my legs as my boots click against the pavement, like the opening act had started just for me.

I walk past the bus station, enjoying the feeling of not being late as tonight was a solo adventure; the first of many.

With Winter almost here, I’m glad I chose my warm chunky knit over something more chic. The wool felt like a hug, peaking out from under my dad’s biker jacket.

I love Newtown- it’s something I know I’ll miss.

Walking through Newtown is a kind of chaotic meditation, that keeps you in the moment.

The light spitting of the rain mixed with the cold breeze, sends a billion sensations to pinch your body all over.

University kids wandered up and down the streets, hunting for dessert and cheap drinks.

Couples stroll hand in hand, exchanging not one word between them as dogs pattern the streets in coloured rain jackets and boots.

And then there’s me in my little world-  ears-buds filling my mind with words that float and paddle.

I could feel my hair bouncing as I walked, with a bow clip keeping my fringe out of my face- and dare I say it, I felt kind of wonderful. 

I don’t remember feeling this good in ages.

On the way past, I fight the urge to duck into a bar and down a spontaneous shot.

If I was on a date, I would do it to prove I was fun and carefree.

But tonight, I don’t feel the need.

It’s weird turning up to a room full of people in groups, when you’re on your own.

The uncomfortable feeling of highschool comes to mind, as I automatically reach for my phone. However after a minute or two, I tuck it back into my pocket.

No– I tell myself.

You came here for us, remember? Fuck what anyone else thinks. 

I’m not going to lie, I was a bit worried about tonight.

I had never been to a concert alone before, not to mention, the artist’s latest album had one common theme…

Plastic plants, Isn’t It Strange, Terms and Conditions and Nice Girls were all about toxic love and missing people… something I only realised, post-purchase.

However I also knew that live music has this kind of energy to it, that like heart-break, it too can feel  i n f e c t i o u s.

As we all wait inside, packed like sardines, to my left I notice a long cream cardigan. It bobbed around to the music and just like me, it looks like she came alone.

After a few minutes I learned she was a Paramedic who came straight from a long shift and who’s friends arn’t R’n’B fans.

She extends her hand- “Belle.”

I take it- “Holly.”

As the singer appears on stage in fishnets and a school-girl skirt, silence spills.

Suddenly being in a group makes no sense at all as phones pop out and the lights scatter around the room.

Between each song, the artist explains what led to the creation- who she was in love with at that time, all the moving and missing parts and what her therapist had said.

Maybe it was a combination of a particular song, the poetry, Prosseco and the baseline being so thick it felt like it was trying to resuscitate every heart in the room- but I had this wild thought halfway through the set that I felt more romanced by this artist than most of men I’ve dated.

So romanced, I wondered if I was pansexual… I wondered what it would be like to be with someone who’s heart was as big as mine… who enjoyed the same parts of intimacy that I liked… someone who understood the weight of words or maybe I should date a writer or singer next?

Hmmmmmmmm.

As the final song came on, Belle reached out and grabbed my sleeve and we both screamed together as I felt so in the moment.

So in love with people I didn’t know, words that just made sense and the honesty that comes from creativity.

And just like that, I felt so easily happy.