Well I’ll Be Someone Else

I cried on the F train today. They say you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve cried on the subway, but I’ve been a New Yorker for years they don’t make the rules. I cried on a couch in the early hours too, and in the late hours, I cried all over this city in the last few days and I’m not sure it’s changed a damn thing. This room is littered with discarded dreams of a bright future, the sun beams outside the bay window and now was finally supposed to be our time again, now was finally the time for Life to flood my senses and make me good enough for those same futures that inadvertently fell out of my notebooks and combusted along the way. Your brown skin feels the same against my fingertips in the morning but its demeanor no longer lives here, the heart within it beats elsewhere and I don’t know how to follow it. Spring explodes around us. I suppose the gifts were not meant for me, I suppose I opened them out of turn.

It’s just I don’t know how to give them back and pretend I don’t know what they feel like in my hands.