Nobody makes me cry like you do.
-
It's 5 a.m., and the streets are almost completely deserted. The lone cars mosey through the still blindingly bright storefront and cafe signs. The night sky is in the first few seconds of turning to the morning, still black as ever, but with the slight tint of the sun far, far away in the East. You're drenched in grease from an evening without a shower and the lingering brief release of touch starvation. Your hair is messy. Your knuckles are dry, and there's a bruise in your right pointer finger from drunkenly falling off a climbing wall. She said it looks like you got in a fight - "A fight with your DEMONS!" she adds, in the way that you no longer find all that funny, and in fact find kind of annoying, with whatever truth she doesn't know how to give you straight all the more exposed. You feel your fists as you clench them with each soldierly stomp towards home. You're trying not to get robbed; your hood is up, and you're constantly scanning for movement; in the bushes, on the sidewalk, between lights, in the dark. With each stomp, you feel stronger, but you've never felt more battered. You're nursing a heartbreak 5 years deep, cutting so deep in your skin that only a thin strip of blood is seeping out of the wound. Soon, it'll rush out in dark volumes. You repeat to yourself that you're "about that action," and you look to the stars in prayer. The neighborhood trees reach for God. The few stars that are not light-polluted into invisibility echo indefinitely. You're somehow managing to swallow back all that tears that have been backed up since New Year's Day. With each stomp, you kick it all back down. Nothing and everything makes more and less sense now. Tonight is your medium for a lifetime of unforgettable pain and an actual encounter with the Sublime, one you longed for every time your bed felt emptier or the train station felt like a cemetery. It's all so stupid, but you forgot it meant so much. You're completely locked into the trek back to your apartment, but you want this to last forever:
"One more hour."
"It'll pass."
-
What the fuck were you expecting?
