it’s about noon and i’m outside a coffeeshop in downtown ithaca. i’m depressed. my iced coffee grows warm as its sitting untouched in the summer sun. i’m missing the girl i love. she’s across the country in san antonio.
maybe today she’s exploring her city in a happy daze. maybe she’s taking photos, smiley and cheesy. maybe she’s laughing with her friends.
all i know is that i’m sitting here with lukewarm coffee and i’m depressed. i need a cigarette.
i hope she’s doing okay, because i’m not.
there’s a man drinking beer next to me. let me remind you it’s noon. i bet my cig would be welcomed.
my baby tells me i have to be strong, for me. she’s being strong, for her.
should i post this on my blog later? CLEARLY the world needs to know that i’m sad.
my fingers are smudged with the ink from my pens that i bought specifically for working- and here they are- working on deciphering my emotions. day after day, their job never ends. so much for a forty hour work week.
my heart is twisted and my heartstrings are in knots.
i’m hardly holding on. i feel so constricted and in utter misery.
these words are no longer prose.
they are a cry for help.