I think I would like a Komodo dragon.

Not as a pet, exactly. More as a roommate with its own wing of the house, a very generous food budget, and a legally binding agreement that we do not eat one another.

Because look at them.

Fierce. Beautiful. Majestic. Ancient-looking. They have the kind of face that suggests they have seen some things and have absolutely no interest in discussing them.

And then there is the temper.

Komodo dragons don’t appear particularly interested in people-pleasing. They don’t need constant validation. They don’t seem desperate to be included in the group chat.

Perhaps they are solitary.

Perhaps they have simply figured out something the rest of us haven’t.

Sometimes solitude isn’t loneliness. Sometimes it’s boundaries.

The Komodo dragon doesn’t chase approval. It doesn’t explain itself. It doesn’t apologize for taking up space.

It just stands there, enormous and prehistoric, silently communicating:

I am magnificent. I know exactly who I am. And please don’t piss me off.

Honestly?

Goals.

Although perhaps not the pet.

I already have enough personalities in my house.