I keep looking at public images thinking, for some reason, I’ll get some secret information. Like if I got it, that would prove to be the closure I need. Like public images can do that.
I only want to know what I’m waiting for.
To feel whole again. To stop looking over my shoulder to see if you’ve come running for me. To stop needing, what?
An old friend who sees all of me. One who I don’t have to retell all these stories to. One who remembers the burning California heat and the misery of a festival drowning in mud. Someone who was there with me, knows the fuck ups I’ve made, and still reaches for me.
A long-standing love I’m not so lucky to have anymore. I lost my memory, and with it my ability to come back to the nesting place where I learned to fly. I can only find other places, littered with shredded memories I don’t want. The sparkle is all gone. Maybe one of these hovels was the first one, but I wouldn’t know.
I’m setting fire to my heart, taking up my own cross, and leaving the hope of good things behind. Every chance I take will end in the death of my dreams, and there will be no lasting glow, but holes.
I have my grandparents, my parents, my siblings blood. I already know what that means. Some of us have bad luck. Some: bad karma from another life. I have both.
I also have stories in me that I am pouring out. It’s all I’m worth. I hope it’s only a matter of time until someone drinks it down.
I have to hope for something. I can trust in questions whose answers I can never know.