It used to be that warm air and the sound of the city were why I was outside, but now they’re reminders, not reasons.
As soon as I sat on the park bench, my fingers reached for a pack of Players (light, regular) that I haven’t carried in eight years. I don’t even have a pocket there anymore. I could smell them, though. A crisp licorice smell that my brain refused to accept wasn’t real. (Just reach into your pocket, they’re right there.)
Things are so different now, and I don’t like the territory.
I don’t have the friends I used to have. I’m not the friend they used to have, either. We’ve all been slowly replaced by new people who just happen to talk the same way, and wear the same skin. The same with my brother. No matter how hard we’ve tried, we can’t find common ground where we need to anymore, and I can’t pretend I’m okay with the way he does things. I can’t put into words how much I miss our relationship. I wish we were still ten and playing nintendo.
I miss my private passions. There’s nothing I do for me anymore that brings me the same quiet joy. I don’t colour my hair differently every week. I don’t explore mainframes or telephone exchanges every night. I don’t go looking for faeries and magic in the woods every summer. DJing sometimes comes close, but not often. Not often enough, at least.
I don’t know where to go from here.
The empty streets at night used to be holy, and I’ve lost my faith.