My life is a beautiful mess. I’ve tried writing half a dozen novels. I fought mental illness with a friend; she won but we didn’t survive. I almost got married at 23 & now at 27 my life has become a series of introductions with myself.
I am tired. The night seems to come so early and the cold seeps through the floors. Two cats are my company, but I am alone. I don’t know why those words seem to sting. Perhaps I am still too new to coming home to empty rooms.