take me back to madrid walking down crowded guzman el bueno during the morning commute
racing well-dressed hard workers and children in school uniforms
on my way to my academy and feeling on fire from keaton henson,
my shy "café con leche por favor, para llevar" every morning
crossing the two crosswalks and greeting the doorman
listening to music on a bench, alone outside
realizing the walk from my favourite coffee shop to my home was so short
just a few turns to keaton's sounds
how lonely and empty i felt most of this summer; retrospectively, growing
in the moments of the most hurt and loneliness i have scrutinized life the most
only once i've now come out onto the other side can i look back and think how challenging something was and how now i'm not so afraid
the reason behind every cigarette i've wanted to smoke - was this one about vanity? boredom? curiosity? desire? dessert? fear?
to spend a weekend in the haunted house playing along with ghosts snuggled in a sleeping pile awaiting the three am lights and electricity
it's a strange thing to miss things i never thought i'd think about again because i lived them in a different light; wishing most of it were over sooner and now i'm wishing i could go back and enjoy it in better way all over again, and that is one of the worst ways to miss something...when i didn't enjoy it the first time round.
i bet this is what divorce must be like.