Pull me closer

There’s no glamour in being alone.

The lights aren’t as bright. The music isn’t as loud. The hum of the city isn’t as penetrating, as you walk down the street on the way home from upset. You don’t call an Uber without a second thought because you need to be in bed, free of the cotton shackles of your clothes, ASAP. You don’t continue the night until the sky turns from black to purple to blue because you can. You don’t feel invincible.

Instead you still drink too much but you don’t laugh while doing it. You still dance like it’s the end of the world but when the music stops you don’t look up and laugh at yourself. Instead you huddle in a dark pocket of the universe, browsing a world on Facebook that is just out of your reach. You go back in time, hiding the fact that you’re looking at pictures of yourself from when you were someone’s plus one. You’re exhausted after a single smile. You’re hoping the conversation comes to a close soon so that you can surreptitiously sneak off to the bathroom and sit in silence staring at a tile wall.

You never have enough cigarettes when you’re alone. Because when you don’t know what to do you don’t call them, you smoke. You sit on a stoop and listen to the birds that aren’t singing love songs anymore. Now they’re singing the song of someone who has the energy to turn off Netflix. Who has a beer at the end of a long day as a reward, not a crutch.

They’re are all these beautiful people, living their lives, putting one foot in front of the other, and yet I’m sitting here surrounded by a pile of laundry because I’m too melancholic to count the quarters in the little mason jar an ex-love-of-my-life left here back when I hadn’t left for a life of independence… and, now I see, loneliness.

Every song I listen to sounds like my heart-beat.
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