And I slept in a smoking room. Silhouettes of stubbed out cigarettes line the comforter and I have not been eating well.
I braved the city on my own, and made a fool of myself on every bus.
And it’s funny how things work out, because we never talked, not before all this, not really. We made our commute in silence and we put everything we wanted to say in cards for Christmas and moments of weakness, like before you sent me off to prom with that boy I was sure I was going to grow old with, and now every time when I visit you. It’s a funny thing to cope with.
Because I was so certain, and when I am certain, nothing can break me. And then the certainty was pulled out from under me like a rug meant for a beating, and I feel like the worst. I feel like I am not meant for this, I am not meant to visit you. Because it isn’t fair. Because I was so certain. Because I was positive the worst was right around the corner, I’ve seen ravens on every telephone wire, staring at me with pity. And ravens don’t pity. But they knew. They knew you, they knew me, they knew what was to come.
And then it didn’t.
This place really does have the best views of the bay.