it's been months since I've been social
and loneliness to me is as rare
as a four leaf clover
I've grown accustomed to talk with myself
alcohol and interesting conversation
just like I was anyone else
I sit in the dim light of my desk lamp
thumbing through a photo album
with old pictures of my family
I found in the storage last month
I  flipped to a photo of my parents
my mom as beautiful as she could be
and my dad with a smile on his face, looking down at me
I turned the page to find a silhouette of them
two blobs of darkness
they were like two birds
that made a nest
I head to the kitchen for a drink
there are no words for how I feel
nor a reality for the things I think