you're always a nightmare to me

I've come to realization i have written empty words!
for years on end I've only scribbled down thoughts in the hope they'd make sense,
only now that I'm older and I've been doing this for a bit
I've come to notice there's no shame in saying exactly what you mean.
so here's what I meant:

yes you broke my heart,
yes my parents didn't stop fighting in the background,
yes, again, you broke my heart and constantly pushed me over the edge,
because you knew (better than I did) that I loved you, and you wanted to see
how far I'd go, just for fun, just for the sake of fucking it up,

and it pains me, because you're probably the worst person I've met
and I loved you, for what? for absolutely nothing.

my mom had cancer and my sister died,
you insisted that I read steppenwolf.
you knew german and I wanted to learn,

you questioned me because you thought I wanted to be like you.

I was a million times more interesting than you ever will be.
I deserved to be brought flowers,
not sharing the only house towel and sleeping on the cold floor.
I made more in a month than you in a year,
we wanted to travel but you never wanted to come with me.

there was so much going on,
yet I decided to ignore it to hold your hand in a taxi cab.
there was so much I could've been,
an A+ student, a better employee, a greater daughter,
but again, my foolish little heart wasted time loving you.

I lied when I said I wouldn't write about you again.

I wanna write about you to remind my younger self of how much we wasted
and now have recovered exponentially.

now you're a character in my book,

but only the part of you that is curious, tender, a little shy,

the part of you that taught me stillness, silence,

the part of you I liked.

the one that sat on the floor and asked "would you come to see wilco with me?"

and embraced me while we listened to your records.

the childish, not afraid to be young part of you.

oh if you would've let yourself be like that for longer,

we would've been so happy, so joyful, 

but I guess now that will never happen.

a stupid little thought

sometimes i feel like i would be so different if i lived in new york. maybe i'd feel lonelier, but honestly parts of my creative work would pop. it is the best city in the world after all

i need a place to hide

i really need a place to write

like a physical place that i can shut off

where no one looks over my shoulder:

a place to write within walls,

a chair, a desk, a computer,

a window to look out from, 

nothing more

a place to write and think

a place not to be perceived or observed

a place just

to write

a brief pause

i am in a bed that is not mine,

lucky to have been granted the gift of kindness,

a bed to rest, a clean towel,

a window through which the sun shines in the early afternoon

crafting shapes in the ever so opaque curtains.

at night the silence is so immense that to quiet down

i play music at low volume;

usually some math rock will do.

so i lay here,

thinking about the past, the present, the future:

my future, most ardently, my steps

i think about myself like no one else

because what else can i care about

in the darkness of a room that is not mine?

my bag is mostly packed in a corner,

all the black clothes bundled up, shapeless, hoping to be washed upon my arrival.

i have seen nothing and eaten a lot,

i've written, i screamed my heart out to my favorite band,

i perused the emtpy hallways of a city i don't understand,

i tried grasping the laws of quantum physics behind metro systems

far more complex than ours,

i worked, sure, i talked a lot on the phone,

i imitated accents, i walked in circles,

i got lost.

i thought about you, maybe. not in that way for once.

i called my best friend 5 times in 4 days.

then i got lost again, took 5 pictures (and i am not in any of them),

i understood that maybe some cities

are best left to nature for resolution.

this is all but a brief pause.

all and nothing has happened in four days.

the amouse bouche for the upcoming weeks,

a palate cleanser of joy, disgust, agony:

i am alive and i've never been less afraid of letting the wind collate through and direct the movement.

tomorrow

I can't fathom a future where this doesn't work and if it doesn't, my heart is going to break so bad I am not sure how I'm going to mend it.