We rang in the New Year at Lydia's, a long light night with music and wine, place packed up to the roof. Our little family. And just before midnight, a long walk up the hill and then down into the town. A little stumbling, but the whole world was out.
Now, I'm feeling gray. Maybe it's coming up on 30. Maybe it's seeing Lydia and Alex together, thinking that I blew it. Maybe it's that I haven't heard from Henry, although the letter could be lost anywhere between here and Norway. Maybe it's just that the sky sweeps wide and light as though it is holding all my loneliness over my head--and there is so much of it.
Face it, Misha. You are a depressed person. You are your father's child.
I've been swimming away from this my whole life, but now it feels like the wave is catching up with me.