There's nothing really hostile to me here anymore. Especially not the sound of rain on my roof and on the trees behind the house. Those are the sounds of a quiet friendship now.
This house is not yet a haven, or really even a home to me, but it's no longer actively trying to kill me. Perhaps it would abstain from taking heroic measures to revive me if I failed to wake in the morning, like a tired but dutiful caregiver, but it's no longer trying to smother me in a pillow either.
There were no voices here today, until the phone startled me late in the afternoon, not mine or anyone else's. And that was fine.
Someone told me yesterday that I've been hiding out. Told me I should get some therapy, square a few things away, and then find someone else - as though that's what everyone wants and needs. The formula for well adjusted happiness.
On more than a few occasions I've noticed something bland and generic about her. Something flavorless and without soul. She would take the prescribed route without question.
I wanted to tell her that I reject that. To tell her that she feels empty because the world she inhabits is empty, and what she thinks she wants is empty too. But I didn't because I don't really have anything better to offer.
Just this, talking to ghosts and listening to the rain.
This house is not yet a haven, or really even a home to me, but it's no longer actively trying to kill me. Perhaps it would abstain from taking heroic measures to revive me if I failed to wake in the morning, like a tired but dutiful caregiver, but it's no longer trying to smother me in a pillow either.
There were no voices here today, until the phone startled me late in the afternoon, not mine or anyone else's. And that was fine.
Someone told me yesterday that I've been hiding out. Told me I should get some therapy, square a few things away, and then find someone else - as though that's what everyone wants and needs. The formula for well adjusted happiness.
On more than a few occasions I've noticed something bland and generic about her. Something flavorless and without soul. She would take the prescribed route without question.
I wanted to tell her that I reject that. To tell her that she feels empty because the world she inhabits is empty, and what she thinks she wants is empty too. But I didn't because I don't really have anything better to offer.
Just this, talking to ghosts and listening to the rain.
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