I-90

Everybody is telling me to be hard, 
but I am soft. 

A day passes in intoxication, a town free of ghosts, a grey sky without expectations, you move from bar to bar and marvel at the peace. Spring runs rampant in the greenspaces, you shake blossoms from trees and hover over travel booking sites like they have the power to cleanse you. There is no geographical solution to an emotional problem, floats through your diluted bloodstream but it can’t hurt to try (again). We rambled down bookstore aisles and I thought make deals with the devil, he’ll hold you to your word. Go to bed exhausted, freed. In the morning do it all over and be none the wiser.

Everybody is telling me to be hard,
I tell him,
but I am soft.

I think the soft people will win in the end,
is all he replies.