The Burgundy Couch

I was laying on the couch in my flat at 2 AM this morning, with a duvet that wasn't my own, and a pillow I could have done without. Facing the open window, I watched for about ninety minutes as the sky began to get lighter and lighter. I left the lights and the music off, put down my book, rested my head on the back of the couch's unfortunate burgundy exterior, and settled into one of my favorite places-the realm of thought.

It's been difficult to truly have moments to myself since I have arrived here. I live with five other women, and I have been enjoying their company, along with the company of the other four members of our group. There have been day travels to museums and nights spent barefoot on the streets of London, searching for our way home from festivities that lasted longer than the tube could bear to stay open. I've been dreaming, singing, laughing, crying, loving, learning, and contemplating in the presence of others-all too tired to return to my spring-filled mattress at night for personal reflection.

Perhaps my mattress is so uncomfortable because she does not want to listen to what my mind has to say.
Perhaps the couch prefers my company.

In any case, as I stared out the window of my flat this morning, eight stories from the crooked sidewalks and nocturnal residential Londoners crowding my street, I felt alive.

It occurs to me at this moment that clarification might be necessary. There are so many people in this world that claim to feel alive, at least it seems, while they are living the day-to-day. Wake-up, coffee, kids to school, car to work, traffic, paperwork, lunch, afternoon slump, kids home from school, dinner, late night tv, bed, sleep, wake...

That might be living, but I certainly don't think that makes you alive.

After a day of exploration in the rain, clad in my soggy boots and clothes, I settled in for conversation with some dear friends. A few Strongbow's later, my mind and body were begging for me to find a place for myself. It was at that moment that I knew, I was alive.

When your mind and body can appeal to you in ways you are unaware of, you know you're alive.

I settled into the couch. Exchanged telepathic thoughts with the light of the moon, and fell asleep in pure bliss.

That's the first time I've felt that way in nearly four years.
And I refuse to wait another four for further company and clarification.

Tonight I will return to the couch-to the moonlight serenade-and pray for company in the silence that surrounds me.

I will not let go.