I miss the stars

I remember staying up late in my room back in Melbourne. When S. Wasn't around (usually on Friday nights back when she and I weren't very close), I would turn on our shared study lamp and angle it towards the ceiling. My white pristine room would be awashed with a soft yellow glow and outside; I could see the starlit sky from our wide window, which spanned the entirety of the bedroom wall. 

It's always quiet. Occasionally there would be noises from the neighbours who lived in the houses behind our apartment and in autumn there would be crickets. Sometimes dogs would bark but otherwise it's always quiet.

And cold. Or at least pleasantly chilly. I would make myself a cup of tea or pour myself a glass of juice. A box of chocolate biscuits by my side and I'm alone and slightly lonely but generally contented. I would be at my laptop of course, watching something or the other, talking to friends on tumblr etc.

I remember still the smell of the cool air. So clean and fresh I could swear I could taste it. There is no haze in Australia. Only mist or fog.

Right now, in the confines of my room, in the isolation of my own making, I feel like I've lost my home. I feel desolate in a most resigned manner. It's not the keening longing of being stuck overseas, solitary and independent. I am a prisoner of my own disquiet. This falling out does not tax me anymore. Or actually, it does, but I am too tired from work to distinguish it from my general weariness.

I want to gaze at the stars. I want to look for Orion's belt in Melbourne's sky and feel a smile tugging at my lips when I spot it. I want to feel the soft breeze of the chilly night envelope me. The wind my friend, I left you in Melbourne. The wind did not come with me.

In summary, this falling out has made me feel homeless.