There is a rush in my bones to do something.
I want to kick up the dust of Nowhere, Kansas. I want to pick a handsome stranger out from a bar and run at full speed until we both collapse of broken hearts. I want to write a million first lines of a novel, pan through dirty water until I find gold. I want to drink myself into a stupor and break down in an unknown city. I want to learn a million things and go to sleep to forget it all. I want to throw myself through the wire. I want to hide from monsters when the sky falls.
At night, I am tired.
I am tired of the half-steps, the disconnected calls, lost conversations, and faces or places of what could have been. Sifting through shadows of conversations to figure out when to jump. Being too afraid to shout ‘hello’ at an ever-changing crowd.
I want to hold the peachy softness of her face and tell her that she is beautiful. I want to respond to the messages I was too afraid to hear.
The crossroads are ending, but this is not the first bridge. I cannot predict when the tide will rise — dampen the roads until they’re thick with mud and self-doubt. I’ve dipped my toes a thousand times, but cold bite surprises me each time.
The bright stars lay stagnant amidst the bad memories. The big laughs, kisses, tears of elation, and the moments our thoughts were the same — I collect them in a box marked “inspiration,” shove the rest away.
It settles into the dust of an empty mind. It settles into a loneliness.