I spent four hours at the airport waiting for someone who I could never greet.
I knew that they wouldn’t – they wore the same face, but they had a new crowd to run with.
I watched them for a while, recalling smiles, memorizing happiness and jokes.
I didn’t think it was fair, to be sitting there, but I guess it doesn’t matter in the end.
I spent thirty minutes on the highway trying not to hit the medians.
As each overpass came, I observed my lane, afraid for the future of me.
It wasn’t hard to drive; the lights were fine, and I could see quite well.
I just felt like I was slowly convincing myself to end, bloodily and quickly, like that.
I spent twenty minutes in my bed controlling my breathing and sound.
With a house so involved and so small and so loving, it was hard to get alone.
When the dark finally came it held no solace, like I had hoped for so long that it would.
Finally, I slept, tired, defeated, and lonely as hell in my room.
I spent five seconds in third hour, begging myself to not cry.
It was harder than thought, and my voice cracked a little, but I thought I did pretty well.
It was mostly when I realized that no one really supported this decision I’d made.
I know it’s my fault, and that I’m the problem, but very quickly I felt like an outcast.
It took just a second in my car for me to ruin my day.
I just can’t process the pain in my body that steals my happy away.
You told me what I already knew, and you blamed me for craving the end.
I didn’t say anything – what could I say? – as I crumpled into my mistake.
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