Saturday

I’m here. If I speak up while the crowd chatters, it almost feels real, like they know I’m here. My house, my living room, but not my chairs, table or my friends. All my friends are dead. Probably. Keeping track of time is not only unnecessary, but impossible. Sleep hasn’t taken me in a large chunk of time, and it’s not like I can go for a walk. As the sun rises and sets, I wander the halls of the house I paid off on my own.

Tonight, the new tenant has friends over, and they left a plush armchair empty within their circle. They chat, and break into side conversations, while I silently participate. Energy drains from me when they share the space, and I get as close to slumber as I have in my time on this side of the veil. A warmth of their love for each other covers me like a blanket, and I sense my eyes growing heavy. Maybe