I awaken to the sound of the old city hall bell ringing across the street.
“I can feel it on my tongue–
brick and mortar, as thick as scripture,
drawing lines in the sand
and laying borders as tall as towers.“
My bed is warmed by sunlight and the cat at my feet, purring loudly. I shed layers in the heat of the morning sun and pad barefoot into the kitchen in shorts and an oversized t-shirt. My coffeemaker, programmable, has already started percolating. I inhale the smell of fresh coffee and listen to it for a moment as I take in the silence around me.
“Cause like constellations a million years away,
every good intention is interpolation,
a line we drew in the array–
looking for the faces,
looking for the shapes in the silence.“
A word I used to fear so much, now my greatest solace.
As an extrovert, I enjoy company. My preferred state is to be surrounded by large groups of people, talking and laughing, the center of attention. That is when I am my happiest. I love to make people laugh, I love to see their expressions light up and know that I was the cause. Perhaps it’s selfish. Perhaps not.
But something about the easy silence of waking up alone is tantalizing.
“All that’s left for me to climb to the heavens
is the chasm of the night
and a matter of time,
but I hear the rumble as the tectonic plates start to shake,
and I feel my blood pounding like the beat of a drum.“
With the whole day stretched out before me, I made breakfast and took it (plus my coffee and a glass of chilled milk) over to my couch. I watched YouTube videos until the bells rang eleven times, signaling the new hour and another day I woke up on my own.
With every day that passes, I get a little more used to it.
Walking into the apartment is strange sometimes. I’m never quite sure what to expect. The living room with my couch and TV and PS4, the dinette, the hallway leading to my bedroom, the kitchen and bathroom adjacent it–it’s all so strange and familiar all at once.
“Like constellations imploding in the night–
everything is turning,
and the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light.”
The first night I spent there, I wondered if I would be okay by myself.
I wondered if it was something I would enjoy, and I wasn’t sure of the answer. It was strange, a new experience I could not compare to anything. I remember climbing into my bed and turning out the light, staring at the ceiling as headlights cut through my drapes and lit up the room for a brief flash. I remember thinking “can I actually do this?”
I believe I know the answer now.
“And everything you thought you knew will fall apart,
but you’ll be all right.”
The Oh Hellos