As I lay here in the dark of this room
in a city that's broken my heart over and over and over again
(or is it the other way around?),
I wonder why I keep coming back?  

Am I trying to retrace history in order to
somehow rewrite it?  

This love affair has been
tumbling along to Nowheresville
since the late 90s,
before it was a dream.
(Except in Portland).

Every corner, every amusement, every mid-afternoon sun break
has a memory attached to it,
like a
leech.

The flashbacks twist and turn
and tickle and  
feel hot and sharp -  
laced with the bittersweet taste of
melancholy and remorse.  

Shame.
Embarrassment.
Self-Destruction.
face palm

It's almost like every breath I take here
is in sync with me
lashing myself
RAW -
because, for some reason,
I deserve it.

I want this city to love me as much as I love it.
I want this city to embrace me as much as I embrace it.

I want it to want me,
as much as I want
it.

Or, maybe I just need to
Get
A
Clue.

It could be that....
Seattle
Is
Just
Not
That
Into
You.