forgetting

This Town.

This is my Town.  This is my city. This is my home when shit gets gritty.
I see the lights, hear the sounds, and know everything will be okay now.

This is my block, this is my home. These are my streets that lead me home. It doesn’t matter where I am going. It just matters how long before I come back to the familiar stench of this familiar city. I watch things come, I watch things go. People are free to come and go as they please. Leave and return, everything will be okay soon.

I want more. I want more than the bare boned buildings that become nothing more than skeletons of our past. More than this slowing pulse of people settling, growing further away from who they used to be. A million mistakes away from our future self. A thousand forgiven apologizes in the form of morphed manipulation into something different. This town changes you. This town keeps your grounded. This town sucks at the empty soul of your youth and helps settle you into the bitter adulthood.

We were all those crazy kids once. Kids that travelled to larger cities, bigger than our hometown. Away from the familiar streets. Away from the roads that lead us home. Seeking adventure, seeking life, seeking something bigger than this mundane life. You could always go home, they say. Always come back to this town that stayed embedded into your brain.

We grow up to hate each other. Grow up bitter from our past and grow up to shatter the shells of our former selves. This isn’t what was suppose to happen. This wasn’t how I was suppose to be. We all said we’d be friends forever. Now I can’t even look at half of your faces. We grow up to be better versions of ourselves. When does that actually start? Half of us aren’t better, instead we are bitter. I can’t stand by this anymore.

This town is home when it feels fit to be. This town is my town, whenever I want it to be.

 

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Miami, Miami.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

First time I believed in Miami, is the first time I believed in the sun. The warmth and comfort of a hug from the light and heat of the big bright yellow sun. It had been years since I paid attention to the sun. Since the rains and storms stopped and something inside of me craved the harsh reality of sunny days and sunshine. I hated the sun. Forcing myself to conceal my skin behind layers of clothing and retreating inside while people came alive in the sun. The sun and the sunshine weren’t for me. Any trace of the sun left me long ago and left me with the pale remembrance of spring through summer. But Miami opened itself to me in a warm familiar hug. It embraced my flaws and comforted me after the storm of my life and reassured me that it would be okay. Will it ever be okay?

Whoever I was then, I can’t ever be again.

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Forgiving, forgetting, and the art of leaving. Beneath the palm trees and the big bright yellow sun. Mesmerized by the whites of the sand and the big blue sea, I could get lost here forever. Drink after drink, night after night, lost. It was the art of letting go and leaving that catapulted the journey to the sandy white beaches of South Beach. It was the art of forgiving that brought me to the streets of Miami. But forgetting, where do I forget? Where do I lose sight of the realities amongst the sun drenched streets and picture perfect perfection? Perhaps, another drink. Another drink to forget and be swallowed whole by the sun and lost in the shade under the palm trees. This was my forgiving, this was my forgetting and this was my leaving.

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I didn’t think about you and I didn’t think about me. I didn’t think about much of anything. Dancing the night away under the stars and hearing the roaring sounds of the ocean hitting the sands. I could have kissed a hundred boys under the street lights of that city. I could have. Maybe I did, honestly I can’t remember. All I know is when the morning sun woke, I was clean. You forget who you are when you’re in the sun. You forget that your past is left in the dark to it’s own demise. At least that’s what I thought. The light and the warmth of the sun, the sands of the beaches and their beautiful swaying palm trees, why would anyone want to remember the past? I can still feel it. I can still hear it. I can still see it. Everything. The light, the sounds, and this notion that I found this escape from reality if only for a short time.

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There was no one else. Nothing that made me crave the sun as much as I felt it in Miami. No place better to forget then running away the picture perfect sights of South Beach. The street lights bright as the sun and the sun warmer than I could remember. I just need that escape. That one last time to forget it all. That one last drink to solve all my problems. All of it. Every single damn one of it.

Miami, Please take me back.

The comfort in there’s no one else.