Sour Cream and Onion Chips. That's what I wanted.
I began to walk, first down my steps, then I took a right out my door.
The back roads was what I thought, I'd take them, it's nice out.
I walked a block, and then another, until I found myself lost.
I walked the streets, following only the sound of my feet.
It was perilously quiet, the kind everyone would like to keep.
Then came a house all alight with sparkling diamonds.
A white christmas tree, crackling fireplace, the works.
I took a mental picture with my hands, then let my feet do the talking.
I hit the lake, walked up the hill, and stood under the spotlight.
It must have looked like the perfect picture opportunity, the type you can't refuse.
A single solitary figure, spotlighted by her thoughts.
Looking out into a sea of black steel outlined by the faintest white wisps.
Then it started to snow.
Like magic the white came from the black.
It floated past me as a reveries often do.
I smiled as a tear rode its way down my cheek.
This was what I was searching for, a solitary reason to be.
Here it was.
I stood there for hours it seemed, lost in translation.
Cars found their destinations down the road behind me, while I stood transfixed.
When a lull occurred I took my leave.
I found another block, another street.
I saw across the street, there was nothing but white snow, so I blazed my own path in the deep white.
I stopped. Clicked. Moved on.
I found my chips in a convenience store down the road. It was filled with loud coeds.
I kept my head down, stayed out of the way.
They took my money, and I headed home.
I took the back roads. Another block, another street.
As I found my block, my street, I walked slowly.
Deep breaths took the cold outside and sliced my being.
Fireplace seared my nostrils and I thought of hearth and home.
The dreams people put together.
As I walked slowly there was a gaggle of girls I could hear. Drunken.
It was when I heard them, when I stopped.
I had never before felt so beautifully lonely in a place that I felt so beautifully at home.