As he leaves the table, I turn back to my bag of books, making selections and piling them in stacks on the table in front of me. I choose an album and turn up the volume until I’m surrounded by piano, guitars, vocals. It’s so loud that I notice things for the first time, even though I’ve owned the CD for months.
Several minutes pass before I realize I’m sitting in a fortress of my own making. I’m surrounded by words and sounds I find comforting. I’m in a place where I feel safe. He’s on the outside. As he should be.
Sometimes we forget who we got
who they are or who they are not