The ceiling fan did not move. The bird chirps were silent. Rain fell in rhythm with my breath. I awoke again as I always do with a hangover, even though I haven’t had a drink in three days.

“You seem lonely” the Ghost says to me. The Shadow places a pink flower into the vase sitting on the small wooden table in the right corner of the room. “I have been waiting for you to say my name. You never do anymore.” I no longer feel the need; the hunger for touch has diminished. The pain melts into the morning air as I sit up for the first time in twelve hours. I wait for your whisper to wake me: “You seem lonely.” Six thirty five a.m. everyday for three years: “You seem lonely”, the whisper brings the dawn’s light.

Shower, coffee, music, slice the tomato, two pieces of toast, walk the dog, pick up the poop, wave to the Chinese man smoking a cigarette at the end of his driveway. “Death did not answer the door today”, he said, as the blend of words and smoke pour out of his mouth.

The rain makes me want to write. The sound, tempo, smell, the soft mist in the breeze, the defused light gentle on the eyes. The Shadow and the Ghost remind me, “You would only be missed if I went away”. Where do the birds go when it rains?

Go back to the well, humanity needs you. Drink the wisdom from deep within the well. There are no heroes…only headlines. Would you be missed if you went away? An f’ing inspiration I would be to the dead. I am a bother to the living. Take it all away, I do not feel like it anymore. “Don’t forget you love me today”, I say to the mirror. I am just so tired of missing you.

Too early for bourbon. Conversation with strangers to pass the time. People do not want peace; if peace is what they sought, peace is what they would have. Peace arises, is it not contagious. No matter how much you love someone all you have is hope. The coffee sucks in this place. I always get coffee, why not water? Water always tastes just right. Tell me what you are thinking. I will rescue you. Women walk throughout this coffeeshop sucking in their guts, looking for someone to tell their problems to. Exhale suburban white woman, I will help you sort it out. Life does not turn out well if an angel speaks to you. Seeking the divine, all you will ever get is the seeking. Life is not comfortable. We all have secrets that we hide. Atonement for your spoiled life, somehow you cheated God and got away with it. Yet the light shinning down on you looks good. I have thought about it for awhile; pack it up and go away. Just be as your are.

The rain is starting to soften, the clouds are almost empty. I can hear the sound of the birds waking from their nap.

In John Craig Media