I sit for hours absorbing the place, only moving to refill an empty glass. Cigarettes fill the ashtray and thoughts flood my mind. Nothing to do but sit. Sit and wait in darkness dotted by former Christmas lights as memories, judgments, guilts and the same old questions play havoc in my head. Ghosts only haunt if welcomed.
I sit and allow it to happen. There is no more arguing, the struggle has ceased to be. I only put a name to something in front of me, in my immediate presence if the conflict in my head feels pressing.
It's not until 11pm that I finally make my way back to the bedroom. Lots of pillows and thick blankets, a type of royal welcome to sleep. Here is what looks like a computer monitor on a dresser next to my declared side of the bed. I turn it on and find it's a television. There's some type of investigation being played out on the immediate channel. A man is telling a story. I pull back the covers, hug up to the pillows and drift off to a murder.