Table.

I sit here most evenings… though largely un-noticed. I’m an introvert, dressed in the costume of an extrovert. I want a connection, but I’m happier in my space… more comfortable. I’m content to sit here, working my way toward the bottom of the glass… silently feeding off of your energy, like a vampire feeds on blood. 

Narratives are assumed, rarely of substance. I’ve been here long before you, and lived several lives. You’re only the constant, and that is change.

Yet, you cradle me… you support me. You don’t care about the years before.

As with change, this will end. You are pliable, but I am stone. In a revolving doorway of possibilities, I am a fixture… nine lives deep.