#spilt thoughts
New York wasn’t the same without you. I never once thought for a second that a city, so vast and overpopulated could ever make me feel so lonely. But that’s exactly what it did. I could see your face everywhere, almost like you were haunting me. Guilt following me wherever I went. I shouldn’t have been thinking of you. But I saw you on street corners laughing drunkenly with your friends. I saw you in Central Park, smoking cigarettes. I saw you at the Highline - looking out at the skyline. And then I saw you, outside the hotel - teary eyed, arms outstretched - begging me to stay. And then I saw myself, shaking, with wet cheeks from the tears streaming down them, turning around and walking away from you. And as I stepped into the yellow taxi, you disappeared, faded away like you did 7 years ago. What would have happened if I stayed? If I didn’t get into the elevator?
New York left me lonelier than I was after I left you. I guess it’s my karma - you always had a way of coming back to me. Without you, my vision of New York is tainted - haunted by you.
You did it again,
You did it again.
Poison ivy twisting around your neck, just like last time.
“Why are you crying?” “you don’t have any reason to be fucking crying” “what’s the matter with you now?”
You’re mid panic attack, he can’t see that. He never sees that. He just assumes you’re pissed off at him, that’s always the case. You’re not allowed to be quiet, you’re not allowed to sit in silence with your thoughts without being rude and pissing him off. You’re not allowed to be annoyed or upset - you’re feelings aren’t valid, you’re manipulating him, you’re crying to make him feel bad. You’re mid panic attack, and he’s lashing out at you, making you feel worse than you already do.
You’re shrinking,
you’re shrinking.
Disappearing, diminishing, soon you’ll be nothing. You think that’s want he wants. You’re hurting, worse than before. And he can’t help you, you’re not even sure if he wants to help you. You feel like he leaves and goes out to get relief from you, to get away from the emotional baggage and grief you cause him.
You’re crumbling onto the hardwood floor, you wish the floor would just swallow you up. You think about leaving, maybe one day you will.
This road is treacherous.
Once I lost you, I began to look for you, I’d look for you in the men I would date. I’d go for the men with messy blonde hair and sky blue eyes, but would run for the hills after realising they didn’t sound like you, they didn’t kiss like you nor did they listen like you. I started listening for you in songs: picturing the way you used to tap your thumbs against the steering wheel to the beat of the music we’d play in the car. I began to look for you in books; reliving our experience through someone else’s words and perspective. I began smoking those Marlboro cigarettes you always used to smoke, trying to be closer to you even though you were out of reach. I played our playlist everyday, on repeat, imagining we were still in your car singing along to every song. And then I started looking for you in my dreams, replaying the time we spent together over and over again, trying to chase after the memories, knowing I would never be able to replay them again. I tried everything, just to feel close to you - to feel the connection I feared I would never be able to find again.
Maybe one day you’ll call me and tell me that you’re sorry too.
A Scrap of Paper and an Ordinary Pen Draws an Image as Moving In Likeness to the Emotion Instilled in a Van Gogh Painting.
The Artist’s Skill and Technique Differs; however the Emotion is There.
Feel the Feelings and Permit the Emotion to Wander in a Controlled Path.
In the End the Creation is Revealed.
