Most nights, I have dinner with Loneliness. We sit across from each other, silent, each absorbed in our own thoughts.

Sometimes, I sit with Anger. She bashes her hands against the countertop, screams like the world is ending. All I can do is cover my ears and resist the urge to scream like she does.

Other nights, I sit with Depression. Those nights are the worst, as everything that I eat is tasteless and I wonder why I'm even eating at all.

But, tonight. Tonight I had dinner with You. You didn't see the loneliness, anger, and depression sitting in the seat across from me. You didn't even blink twice as you sat down and took an already taken seat.

Yet, it didn't matter. As you smiled at me, your eyes crinkling up at the corners, and introduced yourself, I hoped...really, really, really hoped... that this wasn't just a single occurence. That this night was not just another night in a long stream of bland, monotonous nights.

My dinner guests were not replaced by you as you sat down. They'll be back. They always return. But you seemed to frighten them away, if even for that single hour.

I'd love it if you joined me for dinner again.