like a snowflake
I remember what it's like to live alone. Not just alone in your apartment but alone in your city. To wake up and go to bed knowing that anyone who has any inkling of who you are is hundreds of miles away, and that's where they're staying. I remember what it's like to be in charge. To know that no one is going to come home from the grocery store with your food, get you to go to work, pick up your things, or listen to how your day was, and no one is going to ask you what you're doing up when you decide to make peanut butter toast at three in the morning. I remember what it's like to hear yourself chewing on the fruits of your labor, sitting on the floor of your tiny palace, the wind howling madly outside as the city sleeps. To be drunk on your own imagination, lying on the floor with a cigarette in your hand you're only half enjoying, lying to the world about a job you don't like working, conversations you'd rather not be having, and sacrifices you don't like making. It's taking care of business I guess. I didn't have much to show for it, but I lived harder and faster in that one-room apartment than I ever have before or since. The impression it left on my mind is like a crater on the moon, but I would imagine the city itself has long since forgotten me. Like a snowflake landing on a warm sidewalk, I was gone as quickly as I came.
~
2006 - 2012