The glass of the coffee shop windows is worn out like the old sweater you pull out of your closet on cold December nights; whispering of memories and soft lighting. Underneath the weight of my body, the aging leather of the chair caves, making me a home. But home is a word I roll around my lips yet keep inside my mouth; not quite ready to make its way out.
From behind the shop’s fading logo I see headlights, and for a second it feels like the cars are driving straight into me. They flash in white, the way the light looks when you’ve spent too long in the safety of the dark. I wonder then if maybe my head is a home I have found too much comfort in.
Around me the softened seats alternate in vacancy, giving my thoughts a temporary resting place. It is as if the chaos in my mind fills the empty space so as not to leave room for anything. I then begin to wonder where my insanity would run if a human body took the seat it has settled itself on.
A strangled laugh now escapes from my lips as I bathe in my own somber confessional. For a moment, the image of your face replays like a broken record in my head. I allow myself to sink into this privilege, though knowing I will later drown in its guilt. Before long I watch my pleasure turn to charcoal nostalgia, your darkness invading. I remember the way the words whipped at my skin when you told me I was your home and you were my ruins. I recall now why the word home won’t leave the solace of my tongue.
The windows have now commenced to pour in more darkness than they ever did light; announcing the arrival of the night. I gather every thought my mind has unleashed and cage them in the words I’ve written as I prepare to leave. Frigid air washes over my skin as I push forward the heavy glass of the door with a gentle care. I wonder if this is how it feels to leave you behind.