It was cold. Frost was on the inside of my old windows, and even with the curtains open, no light crept into the bungalow.
It could have been a heat wave in July outside; I’d still have been cold.
I hid under my blankets, my dog curled up next to me. I couldn’t do anything but hide. But even under the blankets curled up tightly into a ball, I couldn’t hide from my mind—my life.
I was alone. I was scared.
All these changes. It was overwhelming.
I walked away from a life I had assumed would be my shadow until the day I finally died. I lost friends. Close friends who had been there for close to twenty years. I scared them.
Nobody had ever considered leaving to be an option before I left.
Beneath the surface, it needed to be done. We both knew it. We weren’t happy, hadn’t been for years. We became different people for no reason other than time and age.
It had to be done for a million reasons.
But I only did it for one.
And now, that one reason was gone, and I had no idea what to do next. I didn’t want to go crawling back to a life I knew was not mine. I didn’t want to play the field or fuck my way to redemption. I wanted her. Only her. All of her. Her crazy, her passion. Her fragility. But she needed different arms around her. And I only had the two.
My dog let out a sigh, and shifted his weight into me as I tried to curl up even tighter. Perhaps it was time to talk to someone other than myself.
“Winter won’t last forever,” I thought to myself as I faded in and out of sleep.
Nothing lasts forever, not even time.