But I am still many miles away even if home is eventual.
The chatter outside is a consistent rumble and my stomach is an empty void with no way to feed it what it needs. Lonely places cannot be avoided if they come to you. There are bigger things at hand than my aches and I understand this yet I cannot breathe or fully facilitate as I watch the moon peeking through the blinds of my single bedroom. I listen to Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright” and subconsciously debate over whether it is a love song or not without looking at the lyrics. I am too much away to be appetized by the idea of romance and today I am not saying this to be stubborn or difficult. What nobody tells you is of the potent amnesiac properties that grief and sorrow both perpetually own. How both slips comfortably next to you like a lover only to gradually disappear with barely a mark months later once the bruises have subsided. You remember the tightness in your chest and the lack of personal magnificence only when you get burned again. I think to myself, the brutality of winter in the Midwest feels the same way. Why do we long for the cold once it’s gone? I am no longer excessively sad but that does not mean that it doesn’t happen to some effect. Frightened and scatterbrained, I sleep after repeatedly reciting a doa for life to be kind to all of us. Most phones we use these days lack the physical presence of a mouthpiece. I’m young enough to need something to talk to while holding its stem in place. I feel the same way about people.