booktowrite

Walking home, headlong into the night and into this driving rain. Its beautiful life-giving force reminds me all the more that I am alone. The yellow glow of lamplight whispers ‘you wanted it this way’ and as I stumble upon my way I pull out my phone and try to call you… there is no answer and I place the phone back into my pocket pleased to feel the warmth envelope my frozen hand. I almost no longer register the fact that you didn’t answer… I didn’t expect you to and I didn’t have anything to say other than ‘Hello, I’m lonely and so cold and I wonder if you’re happy and somewhere warm?’ I finally make it to the building and push through the doors slightly ahead of a deranged looking man, I walk up the stairs so as not to be alone in the lift with him and I enter my apartment to be greeted by the dark empty rooms. I fumble for the light switch and take off my clothes simultaneously… I shower, dry, pour a glass of wine… then pour the wine down the drain because I somehow think it is the left over from last night and the time that I spent with you. I wonder if I am losing my mind and then wonder if that is anything but inevitable when living life the way I live it.