dreaming of a place other than

bliss is:

lying on your bed, smoking, with music on loud and no one else home.

sometimes i think i might cave in on myself.

i fell in love with a boy two years ago who did not feel the same way. yet we still have some unspoken bond. each birthday we exchange mix cd’s that will have at least three of the same songs on them. he is my mix-cd soul mate. and i have let him go.

today reminded me of drifting. and i have realised that for the past year i have been doing just that. drifting between people and places in my head. i have written four letters all year, opposed to the four a month i was writing last year. i am rejecting offers of getting out of my bedroom. i am running wild while my body remains stationary. it is ruining me. i need to get out of here.

bliss is:

dreaming of abandonment and realising it is no longer about you.

i wrote. for the first time in weeks. i sat down face to face with machine and willed my fingers to work. willed my brain to focus on something other than the unlit cigarette i was clenching between my teeth. and i wrote. but it was unimaginative. it was focused around eyes and city streets and i wish it didn’t remind me of anyone.

this city is back-breaking;
a woman that cannot
make up her mind.
her eyes are yours, the steel
grey that one day was comfort.
today you are staring me down,
lips tight, these doors do not
open when i walk past
anymore.

i press my hands against the brick,
unfamiliar against memories that
once were. i have left this behind without
ever moving my feet but i can
still feel her breath on the back
of my neck.

i visit old café’s and leave
goodbye notes on ruined napkins,
determined to walk away this time,
but every vein
is a dead end.

my hands are tied. i am excited about prospects for next year and after. but i am jittery. wondering what will happen. i told my mother that maybe i will just travel around the world without any idea where i am going, stay wherever is on offer and carry everything i need in a suitcase. she told me that we always had gypsy blood in the family.

bliss is:

watching him sleep, completely protected from the storm around him.

i spent the day rearranging my life, throwing out things that were no longer mine. things that no longer spoke to me. it made me think of the way that our reltionship no longer speaks to me. how i cannot keep up a conversation with you for more than fifteen minutes when we used to spend whole nights hanging out our bedroom windows and chainsmoking. maybe that is why i changed to menthols. so that b&h wouldn’t remind me of the times that i can no longer grasp on to.

bliss is:

looking you in the eye and knowing you’ve realised this too, but you are too scared to admit it.