I left the apartment. not because I had anywhere to go, but because I couldn’t breathe in it anymore. The walls were too familiar, the silence too personal. Out on the street, at least the stink of gasoline and strangers’ curses gave the illusion that something was still happening , that the world hadn’t completely died.

Though maybe it had. Maybe it’s just lying there, rotting quietly, and we’re all just worms with cigarettes in our teeth and traces of lost time carved into our foreheads.
 
At a café that never smelled like coffee, I sat by the window to watch other people move. Life was always somewhere else. Women passed by with dead eyes, and men who looked like they’d lost something they didn’t even know how to name.

There was a letter in my pocket. I hadn’t opened it. Not because I was afraid. I already knew what it said. 

I was tired of myself. Not even the suffering, it had long since dulled, but that thick, oily emptiness that spills out of you when you don’t even have the strength to long for anything anymore.

I wanted to go home, but there was no home. I wanted to sleep in arms I’d never known. Maybe this is someone else’s dream, someone sleeping peacefully while I drown.

learn to drown

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