#toxic ex

The city is such an elusive toxic ex. And unfortunately, for me, it’s the one I would still get back with if they asked me to. It’s carved a place in me because it gave me all of these first experiences, and pushed me to do things I would’ve never done. I came here when I was 22, right after college, working odd jobs and living in an 8x10 in Brooklyn. I stayed out late and fell asleep on trains at 4am. I carried a toothbrush in my bag, along with a lot of other things because #commuterlife. It was glorious. I got tired of living that kind of life after a year so I left for a little bit, and now that I’m here again, it’s exactly what I hoped running into an ex I still loved would be like. The red flags are mysterious novelties once again, like letting you be free and whoever you want, but that’s also how they make others feel too, so in the end you’re not even all that special. Here I am, back in the city. I can’t say that I didn’t take this into calculation, putting myself in the vicinity of old love, of potentially running into this ex at any moment, of impulsively falling in that trap yet again.

Te detienes un segundo a pensar ¿qué mierda estoy haciendo? ¿En qué momento de mi vida comencé a sentirme tan mediocre, en qué momento te conformaste con los residuos de amor de alguien, porqué no te sentías tan incómoda como para marcharte?

Fácil, cuando es el único tipo de amor que conoces, te quedas, te sientes afortunada y te auto destruyes tratando de conservar el poco amor que tienes.

Patético.