Things don’t ever really end.
You really just ALWAYS have to continuously find your own way of closure. However partial or incomplete.
One day it will be unnecessary to force that type of “end to it all.”
As I hold some other guy's hand and he asks me if I'm okay. My lips tell lies as my mind spins whirlwinds through the past.
I sometimes wish to own one of those personalized address stamps. You know the kind. The one with your name and your spouses. Or just with your shared name that became your forever last name.
102 Bliss Ln."
The thing about those though? They're permanent. And I am not. In the past five years I have lived... 1, 2, 3, 4,... 8. Eight different places, all but two in the same town. Now imagine if I set out to roam the world. Too many options.
I can tell every college student going to my alma mater where the safe areas are too live.
"You don't want to live on the corner of here and there or that and this", and, "don't you dare think of living anywhere east of that street." "Oh that street? Yes it is has beautiful red and yellow tulips in the spring."
I can list off which apartments have hardwood floors, which are furnished - leather couches or ugly brown ones you'll sink down into, whose wifi ***** and doesn't.
Stir crazy. That's what that's called. At least that's what I get when I'm in one place for what I deem as being too long. I had to graduate so I changed houses, not cities. Although I considered a commute.
Now being here is driving me insane too. Crazy. It won't be long before I drop everything and move on. Now you can see why I can't have a personalized letter stamp. Hell, I don't have a permanent "home" longer than 6 months at a time. How do you expect me to have a permanent change to my last name as well.
To be laid out in ink?
Irreversible like these moves I've made.
— The End —