I’ve been in memory lane for too long.
I was just remembering my time in Chicago. My last month, to be precise. This was when everything basically crumbled. The man I thought I knew turned into someone I’d never thought he’d be. The last I ever saw of him was staring at me as I looked for one last time before walking up the stairs to take the subway back to the apartment.
Some nights later, I was awake at around 3am. Part of it was insomnia, a first for me. But part was also the black coffee I’d brew for myself. I’d set down a cup of whiskey on the rocks, and with a cigarette in hand, I sat and wrote for awhile. Truth be told, I don’t remember what I wrote, I was too drunk by then. But I remember staring at the paper for the longest of times. All those existential questions pop up. Why or who or what. What was I doing, drinking whiskey and writing nonsense in Chicago of all places?
To be honest, I can’t remember. The man I loved then seems so insignificant, that there must have been a different reason for leaving in the first place. My relationship with my parents had deteriorated beyond reason. I had no direction and no destination. I wanted to disappear.
One of these days, I’ll write about those five or six months. Strangely, it’s been over five years and I still am uncomfortable about it. But some time soon, when boredom provides for it, I’ll write about it.
