Life is about living.
I want to take ten minutes more on this flower, mandevilla, that I saw. Space out, zone out. Think about all those white tops I wore and the people I met wearing it. That’s who I was. White like mandevilla. I see some Sour Punk, and I miss this friend. Then I see a pig and I miss this friend too. But not so much. Not as much as the Sour Punk friend. I am here. Living this. In the physical world, and in my head. I am here, but not really.
And then, somehow, I truly am not here. Don’t want to be. I want to escape away too. To the mountains and to the beaches. Sometimes alone, and sometimes with The One I’m yet to meet.
Maybe I was lucky enough to have The One once in my life, who am I to beg for it again? Telling my therapist I need to accept my realities, maybe I should actually try. I call it a need. Shouldn’t I?
You took me backstage, and gave me flowers, and gave me hope. You met me, and let me be. You met me, and took me places. You must not have even talked about me with your friends, but maybe there’s your side of who I am in your mind. And maybe it’s not pretty.
So I will forget you.
There’s pain in my lungs, but my memory is worse.