she thinks she might lose her mind. she’s pacing around the house like a mad woman, and god is she a woman, and is she mad, -in both senses of the word. it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, whatever she is feeling. she’s feeling it anyway.

it’s almost too late when she picks up the phone, hasn’t registered the sound of her ringtone until seconds before whoever the caller is would hang up. she puts it in the back pocket of her jeans, and hurriedly puts on her leather jacket and a pair of black sneakers to leave. anything but the emptiness of her own apartment at that moment.

as she steps out of the house, memories from that night flood her mind, the only difference is that the last time she walked out to seek solace outside of her home, she left someone behind.

she sees her at the elevator, standing in the gates of her apartment complex. she sees her sitting in the passenger seat of her car, hears her singing off-key to whatever song playing on the radio, feels her reach out to lay her hand on top of hers. she inhales her perfume.

the illusions overwhelm her senses, and before she knows it, she’s at the parking lot of a more than familiar bar. she unbuckles her seat-belt, looking back at the ride from her apartment to there that is nothing but a blur of time and space, and the voice of the host of the late night saturday radio show.

the winter breeze is harsh, icy, and she hugs herself, hoping to find a coat in the b