Remember that time I could breathe without my organs swelling up because I’m not here? Or the part of my head that is OK with never meeting this city while I vegetate in a corner of a continent? Perhaps there were days where I could wake up without the weight of an ocean forcing me towards the echoes of its mummies or the absence of dreams between words. Today is not one of those.
There is this parasitic desire to know every inch of this city the way I would pick apart a lover that churns through my thoughts and scorches the insides of my bones.
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