Comfortable-sofa induced dreams of loneliness and luxury.

I need to get off the sofa; it was a mistake to lie here. I need to get up again because if I fall asleep here I’m going to feel like shit in the morning. I stand up and go over to the huge window. The view tonight is achingly beautiful. I can see the curve of the river, the lights of the night time parties on the boats sailing by, the cars driving past below on the street. The lights have already gone out for the night on the tower down the river to my left. The shape it leaves looks like a hole cut out of the night sky, the darkest grey imaginable. I think about E and wonder if I can see where she is right now. I feel a slight twinge of guilt at having rented such an expensive apartment, but I manage to convince myself that I have earned the right to a bit of luxury. I’m just not entirety sure how.

I look at the phone sitting on the high, three-legged table next to the window. I really feel like phoning someone to tell them about the view, but I don’t know who would be interested. There’s only one person in the world whose number I can remember off by heart and that’s the person I came here to get away from. I pick the phone up from its base as I think. The weight of it in my hand fills me with an almost unbearable feeling of loneliness. How have I got to this point in my life where I have nobody I can talk to about the most simple of things. Sharing a moment, sharing a laugh, talking about my day. Talking about E. I press the green button to switch the phone on and can tell from the staccato dialling tone, even before the phone is next to my ear, that I have messages. I dial three, one, zero, three and hear a potentially gorgeous but clearly artificial woman tell me that I have trois-nouveaux-messages. I lighten up considerably.