i wouldn't have pictured us, still doing this half-stumble thing months on

so far apart.

still. 

as much as i harp on you for communication,

i'm still the one yelling at you from across the country, from inside my head

i guess because i feel like i can't ask you if this is what you thought it would be

if i'm what you thought i would be

(because i'm scared of the answer. still.)

but i'm tired, baby

i know you don't like to be called that, i'm sorry

i'm just... tired. 

tired of my carefully-lain paths and thoughtfully-chosen next steps

getting washed away by freak flash floods in the blink of an eye

why do i even plan anything anymore if it's just going to get swept aside

by an instant tidal wave, an email, a sentence.

why do i try?

should i write something here about how "the answer used to be you"?

is that what i'm supposed to do? are you what i'm supposed to do?

and what about this? writing a stream-of-consciousness poem at 9:47 on a wednesday night

checking to see the three views (all my own) in a few days, reading it when i feel like i need to bleed again

is this what i'm supposed to be doing?

is this the grand plan that the universe had in store for my life?

sitting, waiting, only to eventually get "no" as every answer?

i'm not made to withstand that. you know that i'm not. 

god, i'm so sick of wishing i wasn't here

i'm so sick of it.

subway car, drag me to the upper west side and spit me out to ache for a different life