Eight ~ Vacuum

Dear M-----,

       It's very strange, the way a world closes in around me, almost without me being aware of it. Without anyone drawing me into conversations, I turn back inward, all I say resounding no further than my own head. So quickly, I have made a new sort of existence for myself here, apart from everyone. I move quietly through the house, letting silent ghosts whisper to me, just below what I can hear, hoping to catch a word. Most days I barely think to put any music on - and I suppose this is partly to blame for the reserved distance between my thoughts and all else - without my music, I have trouble finding me.

       Why is it that places so affect my emotions, my self?

       Is there really that little of me that my soul is a vacuum, drawing in whatever it can find to fill the void?