Into the Night

Wet, cold, dark night. Etta sings the blues. The rain falls. The open fire glows red. The house is quiet, I feel a chill up my spine. Or, is it a tingle, a sense of being - the world is out there, I know it, I sense it, it is kept at bay. A sense of achievement at my happy world - contained within, harmonious. How did I do that? Get that? Lucky? Maybe? I took a journey, a flight of fancy - a straight trajectory, as nothing has ever gone wrong for me. I've always got what I wanted, but I didn't take it, demand it, just felt it to be good and followed it instinctively. And here I am, with me.

Lonely is a relative term.

I like being with me, which I am eternally grateful for, as I see those people who don't like being, can't be with, themselves and it seems like such a burden. It has frustrated friends and confounded lovers, on occasion, when I don't want to go out and play. Sometimes they have thought I was kidding, those who have known me for a short time, to be sure.

I think I have always had some where to be.

I had enough intuition to know who were the good people who came into my orbit, I got to recognise that early. I've always had good radar for such things. Maybe that was luck?

Etta sings. My house is warm. I have good friends and have had beautiful lovers. I feel content, humming Masquerade, thinking about what tomorrow will bring.

The rain falls. The open fire glows red. Missy rubs against my ankles, purring and lays at my feet.