She wandered through the house, listlessly thinking too much. Looking for music to fill her soul, but honestly, is it that important? Not really.. She’s inconsequential. She must be. Family no longer take any notice in her activities, if they ever did, friends seem to come and go, and no one really notices that she’s not going out that much anymore. The friends she has, she finds little interest in any more. They hold opinions and perspectives that are getting a little stale. The post-modern clique of the arty are getting old, and like most old people, they are refusing to change. Nor do they accept the fact that she, herself, is changing. There are some that haven’t fallen to the rut of stability and the grave of the theories that were shoved down their throats at university. These are the ones that are going off on their own tangent, now too far away to be reached, and besides, their tangents are of no interest to her. She thought about counting the number of people she’s lost contact with over the last eight and a half years, yet doesn’t, as it would be too depressing.
She’s changing as rapidly as the sun rises and drops. Even the things that she wants to direct energy and attention to, aren’t really important to anyone but her. She’s even losing interest in some of those things.. But other things are growing, festering under the sink of her consciousness, rapidly gaining accreditation for her attention, her interest, her love.
Love. Memories of nights spent snuggling on the couch watching The Panel taunt her days. Dreams of far off people and places haunt her nights. “What is that noise?” she thought, wandering out to the back deck to see if she could find it’s origin. “Ahh.. fireworks.. wonder what the hell that’s for?”
There’s not much more to be said. She’s living in a world that no one understands, and no one seems to care about that fact. But she doesn’t mind that thought, and that’s the only thing that matters to her.