I wake up at 4:30 in the morning thousand of miles away from New York. My eyes shoot open, and my first thoughts are,"Oh yeah, you're gone, and I'm so far away from the place that it happened." Suddenly, my heart collapses, my eyes swell, and I am gasping for air. Asking why it happened gets me nowhere. Damn that great big terrible it. I get up. I lay back down. I get up again. I can't stand still, since I don't have a solid ground to stand on, so I roll a cigarette, drink a beer, and drink the Ouzo my Thea bought especially for you. I'd smoke some pot if I had some. I realize now, deprived of it, how helpful it has been at keeping my emotions at bay. (Read: comfortably numb.)
I left New York at the end of August.
First I traveled to the West Coast in search of you, then I found myself recrossing the continent, passing the Atlantic, arriving here at me my Thea's house in a suburb of Athens. You know where. We were here three summers ago. We slept in my Thea's tiny bed, not quite a twin and not quite a full, but somewhere in between. I try to remember if we ever had sex on that oddly sized bed and I can't. My brain was not expecting to catalog our entire life together so suddenly.
I thought we had time. You told me we had time. You told me you were going to be the kind of old man who will secretly pinch the bottoms of young ladies someday. You told me of our shared future as a funny old couple. I trusted you. You lied to me, and you still don't even have the decency to at least tell me why? I'm sick and tired of hearing people thank you for coming to their dreams, inspiring their lives, making them funnier, while I am left with an empty hand, and a heavy heart. Fuck you.
I didn't really mean that.
I usually don't mean a lot of the negative things that come out of my mouth. Like, "It doesn't matter, " for example. Remember that one? I must of said that to you about a dozen times the night you decided to take by far the craziest walk ever imagined. What were you thinking? We've had worse fights. Damn that night. Damn it to hell. Do you know how awful I feel? Tears. Tears. Tears. I feel like the worst human being ever. Despite the many times you looked at me and told me I'm wonderful, I'm good, I make the world better, I just don't believe it. How can I? Not only has my trust been compromised, and my heart ripped open, I can't forgive myself for not being in a better mood that night. I feel as if the fate of our future was laid in my hands, and was contingent upon my actions: be sad and sleep or be available and talk.
Crap.
I left New York at the end of August.
First I traveled to the West Coast in search of you, then I found myself recrossing the continent, passing the Atlantic, arriving here at me my Thea's house in a suburb of Athens. You know where. We were here three summers ago. We slept in my Thea's tiny bed, not quite a twin and not quite a full, but somewhere in between. I try to remember if we ever had sex on that oddly sized bed and I can't. My brain was not expecting to catalog our entire life together so suddenly.
I thought we had time. You told me we had time. You told me you were going to be the kind of old man who will secretly pinch the bottoms of young ladies someday. You told me of our shared future as a funny old couple. I trusted you. You lied to me, and you still don't even have the decency to at least tell me why? I'm sick and tired of hearing people thank you for coming to their dreams, inspiring their lives, making them funnier, while I am left with an empty hand, and a heavy heart. Fuck you.
I didn't really mean that.
I usually don't mean a lot of the negative things that come out of my mouth. Like, "It doesn't matter, " for example. Remember that one? I must of said that to you about a dozen times the night you decided to take by far the craziest walk ever imagined. What were you thinking? We've had worse fights. Damn that night. Damn it to hell. Do you know how awful I feel? Tears. Tears. Tears. I feel like the worst human being ever. Despite the many times you looked at me and told me I'm wonderful, I'm good, I make the world better, I just don't believe it. How can I? Not only has my trust been compromised, and my heart ripped open, I can't forgive myself for not being in a better mood that night. I feel as if the fate of our future was laid in my hands, and was contingent upon my actions: be sad and sleep or be available and talk.
Crap.
