This house no longer settles but fingers of the wind brush through and the vertical blinds are suddenly wind chimes. I admit, it’s a little eerie, but it helps me sleep the way the creaking of old wood of the other house used to.
Two years later and I’m still a stranger to this house (not a home). With the tragic turn of events relating to my supposed-graduation this year comes the inevitable discomfort at having to live inside such a confined and intimate space. I had better hopes for this place. I’ve proven once more that I’m quite nice, and naive to a fault.
On better days I’d wake up with the warmth of the morning pouring into my room, and I’d think it’s a new day. I’d think I’d have a chance again.
Most days I don’t.
Even in the company of good friends and a(n ill-deserved) lover, I still find myself looking for a way to be alone. It happens every so often and to anyone, I guess. You lose touch with yourself, and ignore the call of your soul in favour of their voices, their wants and needs and requests. Too much company can get lonely. (Too much loneliness can get cozy though.)
I wonder what happened to my stomach. I suddenly can’t eat as much as I used to… It’s weird and a bit worrying, and very much out of character.
Maybe I’ll try to look at the calendar more often. Maybe awareness of time could change things.
Maybe I’ll write more.