i was smoking on the balcony earlier the sun still refusing to set birds chirping mosquitoes biting someone in the neighborhood throwing a party in all its simplicity, and maybe due to it, the setting made me tear up:
roughly three years ago, i cried on that balcony at night for hours and hours i was fixing to die but so scared of the thought i never wrote a letter either;
roughly two years ago, i was on that balcony grinning like hell, my insides felt ablaze because you were on the other end of the phonecall and you were saying you loved me and the tear stains had quite dried up by then;
roughly a year ago, i was on that balcony biting my lips to blood, because i'd realized i had a crush on you and knew i was only a friend my head swarming with thoughts of guilt and i could not remember smiling at the sound of your voice without the sting of feeling like a criminal;
now, we are set to meet in three days it's no big deal we still are not okay but gods, i have been bleeding for so long it's starting to feel comfortable we are adults and we're spending three days by the sea like adults it's going to be awkward, and i'm going to get blind drunk and i'm going to be pathetic and i'm going to beg and i'm going to cry and you're going to cry and you're going to apologize and you're going to be petty and you're going to get blind drunk and it's going to be awkward, but we're adults and i can manage;
so i was smoking on the balcony, the sun quite close to going home the sky as colorful as drug-induced insomnias and even though i have three years' worth of bitter memories, i was alive to see a fourth i am alive and it's not easy, and it's not pleasing, and it's not great, but it is good enough.