A last supper of sorts. A guitarist plays and sings in the candlelit room and people chat and laugh. “I needed the shelter of someone’s arms and there you were…..” It is surreal and I am present but apart.
Physiology update: still shaking. “‘Cause when it comes to being lucky she’s cursed, when it comes to loving me she’s worse.” My heart has intermittently been hammering in my chest and my breathing is harder to control. “How does it feel. to be on your own, with no direction home…” (I swear I am not making this up. Love Dylan though. And this guy is rocking the harmonica.)
I feel floaty. Like I am not really here or there or anywhere. And therein the epiphany!
I am a ghost already.
“When I’m home everything seems to be right…” Ah, you’ve gotta laugh!
Post script: He’s playing ‘Lola’ now. I can’t laugh at that.