Friday...

...and a rare evening.

Sometimes, when the light is just right, and the breeze is soft and warm, and I have had just the right amount of my favorite single-malt, I can almost see, hear and feel the life I wanted to be living.

I can see myself, not in my apartment, but at home. That’s a magic word to me – home – with special and wonderful connotations. It is where I am not alone, where I am appreciated, where I am loved.

I can see myself doing things that matter, that make others happy. I can see myself giving of my love, my skills, my concern. And I can see the rewards of giving.

I can see myself relaxing after a week of work done for people who appreciate my work, who reward me with decent money and respect for the care I put into every word I write.

I can hear music, hear loving words exchanged in the long, languid twilight.

I can hear laughter. My laughter, my love’s laughter, the laughter of children.

I can feel a soft hand in mine, soft lips against mine, soft silken hair flowing across my face.

And, for a moment, I am content.

Tonight is almost one of those nights. The images, sounds, feelings are just outside the boundaries of my senses.

Please don’t remind me that tomorrow morning I will, once again, awaken alone, not at home but in a quiet empty room. Don’t remind me I will not hear the laughter, see the face of the one I love, feel that soft skin against mine. Don’t remind me that my work will be as dreary and frustrating as it has been for several years.

Please don't remind me that none of this is real, that none of it can be real.

I will know all that in the morning without being told.

I know it now.

The fleeting illusions have vanished. I am, and have, so much less than I wished for. So much less than I need.