The clock lingered in the background, ticking white noise into my thoughtless mind. I stared blankly as the phone slipped through my fingers, strangling the ticking as it crashed to the floor. I looked into the mirror across the room, my face was empty, stone. Yet the anxiousness inside of me whispered a different story, I couldn't process what I had heard, perhaps I didn't want to.
I don't remember walking to the couch, certainly not sitting down. I sat however and stared across at the lifeless fireplace, my eyes shifted to the photos on the mantle. Memories, shadows of the people and the places. It had been a very long time since I had thought of home, now it consumed me. My palms were cold and damp, my mouth dry, I wanted to close my eyes, quiet my thoughts, yet my eyelids resisted. Instead I stood up slowly and walked towards the kitchen, never had my apartment felt so cold, so empty. I poured an unreasonably tall glass of whiskey, neat, as always. A sip turned to a gulp, it wasn't the taste I wanted, perhaps not even the drunk so much as the sting on my throat. I wanted to feel something.
I breathed in the crisp October air as the door shut behind me. Clumsily threw a coat over my shoulders, and stumbled down the steps. I walked, and walked. Minutes turned to hours, and the sun began to set. Where was I going, great question. Thoughts of friends, more acquaintances. Of a woman, to temporary. Then my mind wandered back to home, it had been six years since I had seen those mountains or dipped my feet into the inlet. For a moment I could smell the trees, taste the crisp autumn wind, yet part of me was afraid. Afraid of what I might find, afraid of the meaningless conversation, and I was terrified of not seeing her.