6.15.17 III

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.

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