I miss wrapping my arms
around you under neon lights.
The smell of your t-shirt when my nose
was pressed against it in bed.
Watching the trail of cigarette smoke
sway side to side during deep conversations in cars.

I can still hear the roar of the highway,
at 7 a.m that June morning.
It blended in well like an oil painting;
next to the sun, The Beatles, and your smile.

Ya know....

I could really use one of those,

long talks right about now.

The quiet ones.

I no longer sleep at night.
I take long naps in the afternoon
that go into late hours.
I smoke cigarettes, watch Netflix,
and eat chicken noodle soup in bed.
It really messes up my opportunity
to get anything done during the day.
But somehow I still managed to get up
around noon to meet my dad in a bar
across town to give him the money
needed to pay for more oil to heat my house.
I always have messy hair,
and I try to stay in my black sweatpants as much as possible.
This is my life as a third shift employee.
It's not glamorous, more dysfunctional.

I am so ******* depressed
that I now have what you'd call
functioning depression.
It just never goes away, and I still
have to pay my bills, so.
I sleep all day
and when I'm awake I stay in
my twin bed under the covers,
and watch The X-files or Bob Ross
on Netflix.
I barely take care of myself, which is probably why I have a cold.
Showers are rare. And shaving is too.
I don't have the money to even leave my house, nor do I have friends
to spend time with.
Without my boyfriend, I'd be alone.
At this point I feel that I will be this way for the rest of my life.
Working to work, with no end in sight.
The fact that I can function is a miracle,
because I certainly don't want to.

It's interesting to watch people my age, who have come from
"broken homes"
trying so hard to create
the perfect family.
Only to realize why their parents
eventually separated.
Because even though you should
put your child first,
you only have one life to live.
Who knows what happens after you die.
And aren't two happy people
better than an angry household?
There is no such thing as "perfect"
anyway.

I would never say I'm happy that the world caught up to you.
That it slowed you down, made you double check.
But it's a relief.
To know that your life isn't all magic and adventure, drugs, revelations, and love.
Now, mine isn't either.
But I'm authentic, can you say that too?
Are you living the life you always wanted?
From here you look smaller, I look the same.
What are you going to do when all that luck runs out.