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Comfortable - Comfortable in the sky with the clouds. But the clouds talk. The pillows and the cushions and the sheets and the mattress tell me to leave. “You do not belong here” they say. I believe them and part of me doesn’t want to but part of me is alright with it. I know that if I stay here or even want to stay here then their words will reign true. This place is not permanent, nor is the company, not for me. I look into the faces of the pillows and the cushions and the sheets and the mattress and I see that. This place will not be permanent for anybody. Or maybe it will? Maybe it will for me? But do I want it to be? The pillows and the cushions and the sheets and the mattress have stopped listening to me now. They are ignoring me and covering their ears. They are sick of my voice and I probably am too. They have kicked me out and double locked the door, leaving me with nothing but a souvenir and some bruises.