(no subject)
i rode my bike to the hills of dolores park after a long day of working retail, a hellish 8 hour nightmare, to me. i passed by the clusters of People My Age, who surrounded themselves by bicycles and empty beer cans. i headed for the top of the loneliest hill, where the grass comes in patches and you can see the sad dry dirt between the strands of dying green. i watched the clouds float towards the city skyline and breathed in the lonesome so deeply, like i had been starving for it. i stared into the horizon which read like the strip of paper in a fortune cookie, and i sat forcing my own meaning onto angles and shinning windows of the high rise buildings. the breeze felt nice and the pangs of being unable to join the crowd ceased as i recognized them as false desire. i am constantly reminding myself to be real. to feel genuinely what it is i want for myself. and it is a constant battle to not settle into finding comfort in others'- in their expected friendliness, in their inhibited state where they reach over to me and give me a hug. but in the morning, it all fades. the facade of tangible meaning dissipates as the consciousness of a new sober day appears. and all this i know. all this i know. so i go to the lonely hills to find some peace and spell out some words onto the view and read them over so many times that i cant do anything but believe it. my hands and my brain and my legs and my heart could just explode from feeling so powerful. this is what it is like to not need anybody.