Table for one

I guess all along I never really had any because I was too afraid to let them in.

And then there are times I wonder what's wrong. Was I not socialised the right way? Was it because of him? What did I think during my childhood years, my formative years?

There was also a period in which I thought life didn't really have any meaning. I thought I could grow out of it. I still think so. Naively.

Perhaps that's why reading always seemed like a better choice. It's private and immersive.

It's hard to change, because it is so simply taken for granted.

Did you make a reservation, sir?

PS: Even the first line has been redacted. Ridiculous.
PPS: Confusion of selves.