Six Hours
i just walked for hours alone.
now my legs aren’t as sore as my mind.
i have grown up a lot since i last took lonely strolls by the lake.
but my thoughts aren’t much different.
there’s just a face, a body, almost three years of memories
to back up the empty feelings.
it’s not as sad as it sounds.
the lake is beautiful and calm.
the sun was showing signs of warmth.
and for some select moments,
i was content.
sitting in this cafe, though, drinking chai with Purple Rain in the background,
how could i not reach back in time
for that girl who was once afraid to reveal her AIM screenname to me
because she though i’d judge her for basing it on her drink of choice.
she always got chai.
she got me out to cafes.
she got me to like wandering around the city.
to not worry so much about spending $5 if it put me in a better mood.
she helped me grow up,
but i saw too much too late.
it’s been over a year and i’m still writing these poems.
i’ve lived in my apartment alone longer than i lived in the dorm, coop or apartment 3N.
i’ve stabilized in this place,
this distressing, lonely state of mind,
but am left scribbling.
an apologist for that with which i don’t agree.
pulled by a paycheck and lacking confidence.
sure i am going the right direction.
unsure who to follow along the way.
unsure who to talk to,
who will be there when i next fall down.
who i could sit in a cafe with in the early evening,
whose hand i could hold on my next walk by the lake,
who i could cuddle in bed with, listening to my favorite music,
forgetting about the world i fight against everyday.
