Lily was looking around for Violet again tonight. Sometimes I know Violet's skinny frame is elegantly, gingerly tiptoeing through the den on her way to Katherine's room.
It's dark out. It's cold. I am reading an absorbing novel, so that when I watch the musical I will know what's going on. I'd like hot coffee (the romance of pouring it into a mug) but it's already too late. Maybe decaf. Or maybe tea.
I'm so thirsty. For beverage and warmth and physicality. What I've been doing, a depressed person would do. Sleeping all day, 12 hours at a time, binge-tving, binge-eating, not showering, and holing up in the house. Skipping days so I don't have to make phone calls. Because business hours are over. Also picking my scalp. Also using my wheelchair when I am perfectly capable of walking. Cocooning. Time to open wings. And flutter, if I am too afraid to fly just yet.
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