I Still Cook for Two

i made too much pasta again. i know i live alone. i've lived alone for seven months. but my hands still measure for two, i pour the whole box, and then i stand at the counter eating out of the pot because sitting at the table with one bowl is worse somehow.

here's the part i don't say out loud. i keep the second portion. i put it in a container like someone's coming for it. and then three days later i throw it out, and the whole time it's in the fridge i feel less alone, which is insane, i know it's insane.

i told my sister i was doing great. i told her i'd found my rhythm. i was eating cold pasta over the sink when i texted it.

the container's in there right now. i'll throw it out thursday. i'll buy another box on the way home and do it again, and i think i'm starting to understand that the cooking was never the part i couldn't give up.