A fire is lit, the last glass of wine has been poured, and the air is chilling steadily around me. I appreciate the hollow feeling in the house, it is better sometimes, to simply be. When my head is foggy, and I'm feeling quiet and melancholy and old and so young it is good, it is good to be alone.
But what happens when you're tired of being alone? Where do you go when you're tired of entertaining yourself, texting the people "out there" that are doing things too, living their lives, and perhaps alone too, but are fine with it? The fire I "built" has already gone out, and the hour is creeping towards midnight. Probably for the best, as I would worry about the wood sparking and catching our house without renter's insurance on fire, just like the lawn. I really didn't know.
Thoughts of moving away again creep in, a fresh start, a new opportunity. It's the same thought that strikes when playing cards. Just one more hand. The next card has to turn my luck. It's waiting in there for me, my break, my chance. A life is waiting out there for me. Something out there will make me feel afraid of losing.
I have fallen in love with ghosts, with memories, with moments. But people - they're just dancers filling the space around me. I'm standing still.