The sand, soft but grainy under my feet, white and golden. The waves lapping green and blue, enticing me, drawing me in. And the hot sun, drying up the droplets of sea water even as they splash on me, warming my back, falling in joyous rays across my face. And I hold his hand as I walk into the water. I can't stop squealing and giggling and smiling. I can't stop.
Shouting, crying, tears, words. Horrid words. Hurtful words. Just words? But such words. She and I. I and she. Are we still the same then? The same as we were twenty years ago? Are we still scratching and biting at each other? There is nothing more lonely than the space inside my heart even as I am surrounded by the closest family I have. And I can't stop crying. I can't stop.
My throat is sore from talking so much. An entire day of sharing laughter and memories and the deepest, darkest of confidences. Talking over each other and under each other, short silences of comfort and understanding. But talking talking talking. Always so much to say, so much to share. And I can't stop talking. I can't stop.
I sit in my bed all alone. The lamp casts a soft glow, a close circle of warmth. I flip the pages. And in that little circle I am me, all alone, but me. There is no pretense, no reaction, nothing. And the loneliness claws a bit, but is kept at bay. Just outside this circle there is loneliness and anger and fear. Just outside this circle there is love and happiness and company. But for now, I am happy to just sit inside. And to think, for just a moment, that there is nothing outside this little circle of light.