Sometimes I forget

what my life is all about.

Fun. It’s about Fun.

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Life goes on and things are forgot.  Memories are lost and books are shelved.

But the lost and the forgotten like to come back say “Hello” sometimes.

It’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.

My days have been long. I have very rarely seen daylight. In and out of each day  with no sun, going through my routine. Wake up, get dressed, bus, train, work, train, bus, dinner, shower, sleep. All day, every day of the week.

Alone in my process, I live for the sun coming in my window on a Saturday afternoon.

I’m just a book on a shelf. Read me. Love me, hate me or feel indifferent. It’s all the same. Put me back when you are done. I’m just waiting for something new.

There are so many stories with so many endings. So many possibilities. It’s all the same. If you feel something for someone, there is bound to be another. There are no soul mates, there is not only one answer or one option. No love is ever truly lost, it is just passed on from one person to another.

Like the pages from a book, the past can’t be changed. Mistakes, memories, regrets and experiences are always there, what’s done is done. Life is like a choose your own ending book, but you can’t go back and pick something different when you are unsatisfied with where you end up.

It’s time to end this chapter and move onto the next.

Forget, forgotten.

On my list of things to accomplish, dishes are at the bottom. I leave them to sit for days on end, accumulating with every meal.  I hate them, I hate doing them. I’d prefer just about any chore. I let them build up to a point that is almost disturbing. As I use my last mug for my morning coffee, I finally convince myself to clean the dirty dishes. I’m done fighting it, and as soon as I turn on the water and begin to rinse I start to feel free.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

A weight is lifted off my shoulders as I slowly come clean.

After days and days of no sunlight I awoke to a clear blue morning. Walking through the city, the sunlight hit my face. I forgot of the litter, fences, drug addicts begging for change, abandoned buildings and empty beer bottles lining the street.

I could only see the beauty.

Sipping cold coffee. Black, strong, old. Hours after it was brewed. Abandoned. I lose myself in thought.

Not good enough, never good enough.

I’m so much better than this, so much better than you.

[I need a refill]

Dark Scary Hallway

I couldn’t pass this up though.

I ran away quick.

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Haikus are hard things to write.  It’s almost like twitter.  You’re constrained and you really have to think about what you’re writing.  I don’t know if I’ll continue with the whole haiku thing but I might change my mind.

This is a random hallway in Mandell Theater on Drexel Campus.

Trapped inside my routine, sometimes I want to escape. Carried by my two little feet, I want to run. Get away from this place, the person that hurt me. He comes, I fall, he leaves.

It’ll be ok. This is where it ends.

I am independent and here I stand with my feet flat on the ground, my head up and looking towards the future. Finally on my own.

Now, all I need are new shoes.

Cold hands and Hot chai.

We’re lost in a coffee shop.

Great end to a night.

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After all that rain and mighty winds, we went anyways. 

We were determined to find amusement in obviously fake make up, cute snarls, and snide remarks such as “I’m goign to follow you home and hide your remote.” 

There were laughs, cries, and screams (mostly from our new companions), but very entertaining.

The night ended with hot drinks at the Mugshot cafe and an adventure to a location where public safety can’t catch us.

Picture, image, photograph.

My space, myself. Here. My thoughts, feelings, words, secrets. Here.

I am me, this is where I can be me without judgement. I have ideas, I have opinions that I express as though I am walking on eggshells.  I hide my true feelings, I hide myself. 

(Indie music plays softely in the background.  I am surrounded by pictures, memories and clutter.)

Some days I am confident, while most I can’t look myself in the eye. I care what others think, I care what others say. Some days, well, most days I follow the crowd and most days,  I don’t really know who I am.

But here, alone, I am me (whoever that is).