(no subject)
The guy I used to sleep with, back when I could still sleep with people and not be overtaken with guilt, propped himself on his elbow and said, “You know, my girlfriend would really like you.”
I like to think of myself as a witty person. Quick to respond, good for a laugh, but all that came to my mind was, “…unn…hmmm?” We were naked. In bed. He was still covered in sweat, and I hadn’t had the time to lite up a smoke before he started talking about his girlfriend. And the fact that we should really grab a coffee together.
As it happens, I did meet his girlfriend for tea. He was right; she did like me and oddly enough, didn’t have an objection to the fact that I met her through sleeping with her boyfriend. Welcome to New York City. It was the first red flag that I missed. I never slept with this boy again, but I did continue to see his girlfriend. We were friends for a few months before she turned up at my flat with a broken beer bottle and threats to pull my hair until that nasty blond color turned red. That was the last time I ever saw her.
Inevitably, when you live on the same train line, you are bound to get on the same train as an awful one night stand, a friend gone stranger, or a psycho that was threatening to take your eye out with a broken beer bottle, but I’m almost positive she is in jail because inevitably, that is where crazy people end up. Hopefully. Still, the thought gives me a sense of peace. I never bought pepper spray.
This was long before I discovered kale and earned a biology degree that I don’t utilize. This was my introduction to New York City, which never became tamer, but has almost grown dull. I used to think that there was something off - wrongbroken with me. I couldn’t exist without that over-the-top sigh lingering under my smiles. That sigh is why I can’t stay in one city for too long, or keep a boyfriend past a month. Once streets start becoming familiar, I feel the tips of my fingers tingling- it’s time to back my bags.
I’ve been ignoring that urge for 2 years now. It’s not better or worse, just is. Sometimes, it grows stronger when I’m wearing last night clothes and can smell the alcohol on my own breath. Morning commuters look at me over their New York Times and I think - I need to change. Sometimes, that dull ache nearly disappears when I’m on a rooftop listening to rhythmic guitar tunes drifting from stairwells, or walking Bebop in the park. But then I think of San Francisco or London, and I feel homesick, only it’s not homesickness, because I don’t think I found that place yet. I think I’ll be terribly sad the day that I do find that place, so I’m content still looking.