Sometimes it's 4 a.m. when I go
fumbling in the dark for my keys, my
hoodie, my smokes. I'm not awake, or I've been awake for only a
matter of moments. A few, but enough. I have to get out of here before the
walls start to fall in, before the ceiling
collapses, before I
start to cry. I can't cry in here,
indoors. With you still in the room.
Outside. Back
stairs.
Morning air.
Sometimes it's
Tuesday. I can see the
stars through the trees as they lose their
leaves. I head for the park. I cross the
bridge, I think about throwing myself in the
river.
But what would that solve... I'm an excellent swimmer. And I don't
want to die,
dying isn't the goal, it never has been. I run down the
path, and towards the wooded area where I can
hide.
I wish I could tell you what I'm
running from.
I wish I could tell me. You've asked before. I hid my
eyes and
changed the
subject. Yes, this is
uncomfortable for me. Yes, this hurts. No, I don't want to talk about it. This is how things are. And, I know you don't
believe. Please don't ever start to believe me.
One of these days I'll agree with you and be able to
move forward. It's just not right now. Not at
4 a.m.