A lonely Sunday evening that pops out of the blue, with no chore to attend to, no movie to watch and no inclination towards the only constant companions here: books.
The constant debilitating thought of one of the parents descending into depression in your absence with guilt nagging at your very existence.
A constantly wobbling thought train that shunts between contradictory images of a distant future on those dry and drowsy post-lunch sessions at the office.
This is the price of happiness. The solitude, the guilt, the indecision: it's the scary part of an introvert's life. But it's the price you pay to enjoy the freedom and the happiness of a bachelor's life lived consciously.
It's the price you pay to relish the refreshing morning bike rides on a trusty bicycle with the camera strapped across.
It's the price you pay to enjoy the long walk on a pleasant, breezy evening.
And it's the price you pay to be happy being just the way you are.