While You Were Out

So, yeah, I've been gone for a while. As soon as I signed back on I was greeted with the phrase "while you were out" over my million and a half notifications. The next day, after I posted this, it said, "Yikes - Please don't leave us like that again!" Way to guilt me, guys

There is a hole in the window and it's blinding me. Not a fractured hole, but a flat sunlight-whiteness that changes shape with the shifting outside. The air is the same warmth inside my lungs and out but my fingertips leave cold dents on my face from minutes ago. 

I don't remember how long it's been.

I can't tell you why I'm here again.

Maybe it's the fire rubbing its red face against my neck and breathing ideas in my ear. Except fires don't do that. Not outside of stories.

I have been outside of stories for a long time.

Positives and Negatives are relative. Obviously. It isn't to say that my life has been better or worse but it has a quality of difference. It doesn't matter whether it's been one year, two, or two thousand because I can only recall so many changes at a time. 

In scraps (of the chewy and flaky kind):

I have redefined my home. Lovely Grace can tell you the number of times I have moved but that isn't an accurate count of my homes. There are moments when home is a place or a bed, but for me home has become people - and a person.

Snuggly things are nice. Especially snuggly things with sharp bits and wiggly noses. I named him Tadeusz Phillip "Pip" Pirrip Pocky. 

College is synonymous with transfiguration.

Minimum wage is a distasteful, heaving, snickering lug that I imagine scratched the numbers onto my paycheck with thin, yellow nails.

It isn't that I was cold, but I shed layers.

It seems to me that triumphant returns should always be accompanied by mulled, well-spiced wine. Perhaps you traveled far into desert places. You need a drink to spill through your spine and fill the cracks in your muscles, to leech your cold out through the floor as someone stokes the fire with apple cores. 

It was probably the fire that wished for your return and that now stretches and curls around the empty spaces in the air where the stories should be.

The End

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