SECOND ENTRY

After writing about my accident in Lover's Cross and my (eventful) trip to Loony's, I had the sobering realisation I hadn't even explained where I was staying. 

It's official. I'd say it is, anyway. I've finally settled into the house at Dreams Lake. It looks more like what I'd always imagined as a cabin in the woods rather than a suburban home, but then again, it was almost in the middle of nowhere. It still belongs to Dreams Lake, but rather than decorating one of its streets, it rests near the edge of a still frozen over lake. Hence the name. I've had enough time here to be able to conclude that imaginative names were not their thing. I suppose, it's not a necessity. 

The first time my car sputtered down the dirt road leading up to the entrance, I felt my heart fall at the sight of the house. There were overgrown bushes that seemed to crown the home, letting anyone whose eyes rested on it know that it was wild territory, didn't belong to anyone no more. The exterior made it look like the house was made of wood, I doubted it truly was, it couldn't be that old, right? Turns out I was wrong. Nevertheless, despite my dramatics at describing my arrival, it was rather anti-climatic. Aside from the overgrown wilderness, the house was in pretty good shape. 

The inside was cleaner than I expected. My mind had been busy conjuring up piles of dust and objects strewn all over the place, an expectation that crumbled pretty quickly once I got the door open. There wasn't much dust and nothing was on the floor, really. I supposed, there couldn't be dust when there was no one living here. Humans were responsible for most of the dirt that filled the corners and high ledges, it was impossible for it to be littered with the touch of an individual when no soul was supposed to be inhabiting its walls. The worst part was the smell, it was obvious no one had opened any windows in a while. Humid, woodsy and stale. It felt hard to breath. 

(When was the last time someone came here? It couldn't have been that long but she mentioned it had been years... Doesn't matter) 

I've come here to write. To get inspired. Even though, I did spend the first week cleaning up. I could have called up someone, but... I didn't know anyone in town and... honestly, I didn't want to. I had the money for it, I just figured I wasn't ready for it. I felt a weird protective vein come up at the thought of a stranger snooping around this house. It was a silly thought, I hadn't known about its existence until less than a month ago, I could not be feeling that way. 

I settled my study in the second floor. Haven't had the courage of actually sitting down at the desk to do any kind of work, yet. Not for lack of ideas, I always had those, whether they were good or bad was another thing. 

The house was mostly decorated with furniture that still looked good to use. It made me sad to think about throwing all of it away, once it belonged to someone, was I entitled to discard it like that when it could still be used? Maybe, although, I haven't yet.

My favourite part of the house is the balcony in the bedroom. It's big enough to have a table and a couple of chairs. I've spent most of my nights there so far. Staring out at the seemingly never-ending lake it stands near to; it brings me a special kind of calm. I don't go back in until I realise I can no longer feel my fingers and my teeth are clashing together from the cold. Once, during a moonless night, I had the feverish thought of if it could be possible for me to freeze to death out here and not even realise, my eyes too transfixed on the frozen water to care about my own well-being. I discarded as quickly as it came, tried to, anyway. I've always suffered from restless nights and coming here hasn't changed that. This nightmare just won't leave me alone and I don't know what to do about it anymore. Would writing help me? Would it only make me relive it more? Even when my eyes are open and I fool myself into thinking I'm conscious? 

I apologise for the way this spiralled. Maybe, I should simply focus to small stories and anecdotes about my new life in a small town.