Alone

I live alone in a house above a lake. Every day it changes colour, torn in half by the wake of speeding boats that pass me by. Every day, I am reminded that silence can symbolise chaos and calm, depending on the state of the soul as it listens.

When the moon is high, and the town is asleep, I lay on my back and count the stars. Count the days that have faded since the last time I heard you laugh. I smoke cigarettes and watch the flame flicker out against the wind, and I know that I should stop, but I don’t.

I live with ghosts in a house below a mountain range. Some days, they seem to disappear, lost behind the haze of planes that rip apart the sky and leave me behind. Some days, I am forgetful, and the curtains remain closed; I stay in bed and wonder if I’ll ever feel a warmth like yours again.

When the sun is low and the highway is busy, I sit in the garden and console myself with the notion that ‘goodbye’ is just a word. I smoke cigarettes and I love you.

I know that I should stop, but I don’t.