The grumbles of the group behind me make me smile
for I know they are real, this moment is real,
and the joy of not being alone grounds me to my spot
edged between the couch cushions.
I don't want to leave them
The air is getting colder, though,
and my fear is a two-way street:
I cannot waste time
I cannot be alone
So I get up, pack my things
take solace instead in the imaginary
which feels real for a moment
until it isn't enough.
When I search again for the real,
my heart aches.
And I'm not sure why.