Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Me and the city

As I walked up to my appartment my phone rang. Same number as yesterday. Her number. I just let it ring. Didn't feel like hearing her voice again.
I am too fed up with tears. Mine or hers.

As soon as I got home I lit up a cigarette and headed for the window. This city is burning and all I do is watch. People wither away in their crazy routines that eat them up alive as each breath leaves their lungs.
They just live to die. I live to die. Oblivious to anything that might bring me any kind of fake confort. Including her. Always her.

She never leaves me either way you look at it.
I miss her in some sense. I know she misses me and I don't do shit to help her calm down and make the pain easier to bear. But I can't go back. Not now. Not anymore.
And this city still that falls apart along with the people that plague it.

Just as  I fall apart with doubt and fear and self-loathing because I couldn't bring myself to take care of someone else who wanted to take care of me.

Let's just leave and never look back, she said. We don't need the city, the money, the people, she said. You can write your days away, she said. And maybe she was right, too. Maybe I didn't need the city or the money or the people. Maybe I could just turn around and not give a fuck anymore.
But I don't want to. And I don't want her and her love and care. I want he city that dies and kills me with it.

Its death is the life of me. As her love is the death of my soul as I know it.

As I end another cigarette and pour myself a glass of wine I still think about the way this will all play itself out. How our dimize will come with warning. Expecting it makes it bearable. Knowing she will eventually move on from me and her pain makes me endure my chosen emptiness. She will live. I won't for much longer.

It will be me and the city. Just the two of us. As it has always been.
We live to die. Me and her.
Me and my city.

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