Sometimes I think back to times when I was much younger, sitting on a living room sofa, looking around me at a place that didn’t belong to me, us, my family, or my friends.
A small child, on vacation to spend time with a sofa, thoughts of when, and how much time, will she spend behind a closed door.
It had been months or almost a year, each time was so different and the same. Different sofa, same loneliness. Different objects to look at, same thoughts.
How long? When? Will she come out? What will we do? Will it be fun? Who is she? I want to know where home is.
My nervous energy scuttles me back and forth between cigarettes, electronics, and chores. Sometimes I combine them all. I feel like it’s to fill that void I once had on a sofa.
I wish I could talk to the younger me. So lonely and wanting of affection.
You will do great things, I would tell her. I wouldn’t know if that would be true but we would both believe it.
You will rise up, and be free of loneliness.