what now?

this house isn't the same size as when i left it. it appears to have shifted its weight from one slanderous hip to the other.

i crack my neck and stretch my back. new comics, cigarettes, and a full stomach, i'm finding my way back into this tightly wound groove, hoping this change i feel is good in the long run. hoping things don't go back to the way they were. hoping that i'm not lying to myself. hoping that this pain has been transformed.

six in the morning, i was still relaying stories to rockstar.

four in the afternoon, explorer gets her own version of everything that happened.

evening comes, and i have the house to myself. i haven't been alone in weeks, and i'm breathing full with ghosts attached. slowly, making myself at home. i'm back to treading water. back to his shirt under my pillow. back to arm's length. back to this familiar sky, dark with a chance of rain.

give me some time with my whiskey and television, i'll tell you stories.