Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Sleep Talking

I wanted to go home and the more I said it aloud, the more I realized I had no idea exactly where that was.  And I felt bad about that, not because I felt sorry for myself, or because I considered myself homeless.  Because I didn't.  It was just a little bit ridiculous to know that I didn't really have anywhere to put my feet down at night.  Or my head down.  Or a place to shut my eyes that I would recognize warmly again in the morning.

So I just closed my eyes and picked a straw out of the hat.  I felt like keeping my future at random made more sense that designing it.  And that was weak.  Very weak of me.  But I did it anyway, and then I got in the car and I drove myself there.  I had an old key but it worked.  The inside of the building looked a little old and like it had been forgotten for many Decembers.  But the lights were still working, so I dusted the table off and I made the bed.  And I tried to remember all the nights we spent there together.

And just before I dozed off for good, I had that thing where you feel like you're falling and then you stop halfway down.  And then I reminded myself that nostalgia wasn't as much of an ally as I once believed it to be.  It was becoming more of a disease even.  Something I resented.

So I put it to bed.  And I smiled at the thought of finding a new place once and again.

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