We’ve let being single become the absence of something. Like dark is the absence of light or cold is the absence of heat. A negative space of nothingness. But there is no emptiness in me waiting to be filled; a void that means I’m less.
Because if my worth rests in a God who loves me unconditionally and a man can’t fix my issues, why is being single seen as something to be tolerated and done away with rather than enjoyed?