At 12am a plane left Tom Bradley international for the Philippines. My seat is empty. My heart is broken.
I’ve arrived home to an empty house.
Musk, the damp, stagnant air hints of sea breeze and Mary Jane linger.
It’s dark. Darker than usual.
And today I feel particularly alone… physically, I am no worse for wear. In fact, I’m fit as a fiddle… but somewhere in this emptiness and silence is a message that I have yet to receive. Will I know it if I hear it or will I be too busy searching for an answer when it appears in front of me?
What a useless thing. This telephone with hundreds of names. Friends and exes a like… but who will save me but me? From this lonely hour when I need it most, who will save me, if not me?