After midnight, the sky changes quicker. Watching the clouds form a vast a blanket across the sky from the rooftop is something I hadn’t done in a long time. There is a quietness about the early hours of morning that you never get during the day. The moon lights gently, the stars scattered like tiny dots of hope, and New York almost appears to be asleep.
I haven’t dreamed of anything I’ve wanted recently. I am not quite certain of the last time I felt alive. I breathe, I laugh, and smile on occasion, but nothing inside of me feels real. I catch sight of a few planes, and all I want is for one of them to stop for me, and take me away. Away from the nothing that I have surrounded myself with.
So much of New York used to wake something in me, like thoughts that inspired me to want to be something more. But now so much of it makes me tired of wanting. So much of it makes me unsure. There is so much of myself I’ve lost that I am not sure I can regain.
Sitting on a bench on the Brooklyn Bridge when it’s one a.m. used to make feel alive, or something like it. It made me want to start running with joy. But this time, I am just reminded that I am too tired to even walk all the way across. I am so filled with sarcasm that the words coming out of my mouth scare me.
In bed, I struggle to find a comfortable position to sleep. Different parts of me ache, my lower back, my neck, my head. I have forgotten how to breathe properly. Even when I sing, I use my throat when I should be using the muscles inside me.
Everything inside me hurts and I don’t know how to make the pain stop. Every morning I wake up at 7 and I immediately wish I had one more hour to not have to make my body work.
The body is destructible if you let it go.