I called a friend and I hung up feeling so alone.
I am on the outside looking in, watching from the window as my friends fill a living room with seasonal decorations, setting the table and gathering around it.
Or perhaps I am sitting around that same table, but was I cramped in at the last moment: chair pulled on an invisible second row, behind the rest of their faces and laughs and unfamiliar inside jokes.
Or maybe I am the ghost lingering in their chests as they try to fill the hole of what used to fill my chair with new moments, new memories, new heartbeats.
I do not know my place anymore. I try to find it on the edges of the whole, not as a wallflower but as a cornerpiece that ties the whole bunch together so it suddenly feels just right.
But I don’t think that’s me.
Love