I miss the body of my youth when I could fall into sleep and lie there insensible until I woke, fully rested. But that’s the carping of an old man. And missing it won’t bring it back. This is now and these are the days to be lived, such as they are and such as I can. Live them. Theoretically, it’s easy. Breathe in, breathe out. Look around. Go. Think. Do. It’s good as far as it goes, and it goes until nighttime.

Nighttime is when the reality of the situation sinks in and the paucity of the new story makes itself felt. The light fails and darkness falls and everything becomes small and enclosed. Mostly it’s the silence that makes itself felt. In the days of children, it was much sought after, silence. Even in the days after that, it was needed for thought gathering and reflection. But now it feels slightly oppressive and the mind keeps reminding itself that, hey, something is missing. Yeah, sure, I know. Keep bringing it up.

Eventually some part of my brain will convince the other part of my brain that everything is okay and although it seems weird now it’s a pretty common situation. Living alone, or by myself. Granted, companionship is nice but plenty of people have the wrong companion and that’s probably worse than having none at all. Nope. I’ve got companions and I can see them whenever I want. It’s just that for now and the foreseeable future, in this home at this time, the chair to my left is now empty and I need to work to keep from falling into its void.