I sit here and look at my familiar surroundings.
Kitchen window to my left, garden followed my a main road right in front of me.
I shouldn’t be sat here drinking red wine on my own, its too late. But there is something comforting about the sound of the cars from the main road at the bottom of the garden and the dull but recognisable noise of my house mate playing his guitar seeping from the front room.
Everything about this scenario is wrong, but deeply comforting, and the ciggeret smoke passes. In from my lungs and out through my mouth.
Today was a good day. Nothing special happened.
Even the company of strangers seeks to have an impact on me now.
Now I am dull from the wine and the world is ok again.
But tomorrow I’ll wake up knowing that the day before was a good day, and that in its self will give me something to cling on too for the rest of the week.