21 9 / 2011
looking out my back door
this apartment, specifically this back porch, is the biggest trigger. I’m sitting here, probably for the last time, remembering how I spent my days. how comfortable it is to sit outside, feel the wind, hear the outdoor sounds, and I miss the smoke. all the various grey strings floating, swirling out of mouths and hands. the heart races, the dozing off, the laughing at nothing, the lack of inhibition, the death of guilt. the smiles and sighs and coughs. a girl with a face full of metal saying she loved me & falling to the ground. the lanky upstairs neighbor climbing down from his porch on the third level to mine. the blonde who showed her tits to get us drinks. the empty, meaningless line of men like my own personal terra cotta army. it seems like so much would pile and build, but these things together leave a void like a crater. I can romanticize all day, but this place can keep its memories, because all it gave me was nothing.
