I hear the phone ringing as the television blurs.
Another solitary night, as lonely as the first…
New desk, new life, such promise: yet nothing new is used -
Unanswered letters grow in piles, by a row of unworn shoes,
A pair of tickets, curling, for a night that never was;
The calendar hangs, fading, on a month already passed.
'The next phase'
In a place
I’m supposed to call home
Where I sit and wait for life to start, with feet turned into stone.
This beginning feels like ending, a tidal wave of change
Everything is perfect, but nothing is the same.
About the Creator
Joanna McLoughlin
/// fiction with a dark edge ///
\\\non-fiction on the wellbeing tip\\\
CW/TW for my fiction work: often contains violence and may contain references to trauma/dv/assault
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