Starlight

Running will be good for your writing, he says, all that oxygen to your brain. I stared out across the New Jersey skyline, the pier freezing cold and empty. Deep breaths ran through my body and cleared out the dredges of a day, of a week. But he is wrong, I thought.

Perhaps age has calmed the rages of my inner turmoil. My demons cozy up in quiet corners and pay me no attention;  I miss them violently. Friends from faraway arrive in the city with their ringed fingers and neatly arranged lives and I forget to remember it was not what I wanted. I don't know why I fight so hard for things that were never mine to own. If it isn't broken, don't fix it.

I fear broken was best
I'd ever get.