proximity
The air here wraps around me like a snake. It irritates the inside of my nose, it slits through my esophagus, it punches at the walls of my lungs, it sits at the bottom of my gut.
“I deserve better than this”, I say.
The people there feel somehow hollow. They have their own things happening, they have their own bonds, they claim to care for me, but I worry they see me as if I am between.
“I'll get out of here”, I say.
The train leaves at six in the morning. It travels through the countryside, it leaves the thick, saturated air, it stops alone at the station, it heads back without a thought in its mind.
“I had a nice time”, I say.
I insist that things will be different. I bag up some spare air to breathe, I curl up alone in my unkempt bed, I try to focus on the sensation of change, I worry that nothing will.