Nanowrimo

So this happened.

My place

I am very private.
It takes time for me to trust people.
My home is my safe place, my haven,
Where I hoard books and stacks of fabric.
We rarely invite anyone. If not ever.
Two or three at a time. At best.
I am wary of people invading my personal space.

It could not have crossed my mind that I needed to warn guests about being reasonable, to behave appropriately. How could it? I'd never allow myself to lose control. We are not teens anymore. We know ourselves. Don't we? What we can or cannot do. What is proper and what is not.
So I do not take well people giving up on politeness, on basic courtesy under my roof. I do not take well people trespassing in rooms they were not invited in.
I despise hubris as much as I despise lack of control.
I took a gamble and learnt my lesson. No more guests.
Apologies should be given in person, not through their beloved, and they should be given to the host, not to the assembly. Saying sorry for the state I was in is not the same as admitting one's fault.
I love your dearly and I find myself heartbroken. His behaviour was rude. To me and to my guests.
I cannot fathom why he did what he did, for it is his actions I blame him for. He was the eldest and should have known. I find him no excuse.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. In this house we cherish intellect, cunning and decency.

In the dead of the night

When stories really begin,
not at midnight, when people still go about their business,
Enjoying drinks and company,
Not near dawn, when the birds call for the sun to rise,
Banishing the monsters and the unseen.
No, it's in the blank between them,
When one is utterly alone, walking in the streets.
When all the noises are distant, alien,
When everything is still and quiet.
On a facade a lone window is alight,
A party? A romantic evening? A good book?
The air is cold and people huddle together
in the safety and warmth of their homes,
While I walk the night.

Hollow

Small kisses,
Chapped lips.
Hungry kisses,
urgent and feverish.

Why do I crave them? why do I feel cold?

I miss the butterflies,
the way my stomach lurches,
the feeling under the sole of my feet
like the ground disappeared.

I crave for short breath.
For my heart to race.
For disorientation.

Fill the void.
O please please please,
Hold me tight.
Pour some air in my lungs,
some fire in under my skin.

Winter

I like winter.
I like how it changes how I perceive the world.
The way sounds are muffled by my thick hat, the way gloves for a wall between me and the world.
I feel further from reality and that helps me take a step back, look at things from a different angle. I makes me look up and notice that the sky is not grey, but an infinite number of hues between black and white. It makes me stop and look at how people move in crowds. The patterns raindrops make on the windows. The smell of cold in the air.
It sure makes it harder for me to focus and I probably look haughtier, more reserved, hopefully more unpleasant.
Because I feel more distant from the world it makes it harder to connect with people, to take part in conversations, to relate.