Is it just the hormonal tide drawn back?
There is something about working in the pearly, palatial vampire factory that leaves you feeling a bit…drained. It is nothing significant, nothing long-term, nothing that leaves me shaking my fist at the sky for having chosen it as the aerie to rest my wings upon. But it is something, the silence, the solitude amongst hundreds, the frosted glass that leaves you as a shape to others and others as a shape to you.
And then, to arrive home, after long hours of sitting and communicating solely through the computer to strangers who could hardly give one damn or another so long as a butt fills the seat and serves, to feel as if a crowd has gathered around the one I care about and he’s thrilling to the social gauge boost. My presence feels like it’s noted, but the world does not stop. It is strange to feel the monster you house suffer and lurch its arm out before yanking it back. Love. Of a particular type…is the blood and meat for this Audrey II and she’s starting to feed on me for lack of external nutrition. The ego is getting outsized. The demands outpacing anyone’s ability to meet them. Soon, I shall have to buy a broom to beat it down when it starts to climb the walls.
And at the end of the night, he calls me. He makes time after all of this time to talk to me. I can’t fully suffer if he’s going to be so good as to present himself and let me mewl about how quietly passed the day.
I am tired now. And my legs feel as though they want to grow but won’t.
The rest will be made up in sin and vinegar.