I am exhausted. I am worn out. I am tired.

Tired of having to put myself out there in the world over and over again. Tired of having to get to know someone all over again, learn new names and memorize new quirks, sit through hours and hours of grandfather stories—and all for what?

Just longing to see a slight flicker of love, it’s passing shadow, a familiar figure who does not recognize me each time we meet. I am tired of having to dive into a new pool of words
to describe my newfound interest, to say three words in slightly different variations when I know they will never weigh the same as when I said them to you. I am tired of imagining different faces in my future when yours is the only one I see in a New York apartment with two damn sinks.

I look at the lovers on the street but I don’t wish for one second that that could be us. No.

Instead, I wonder if I can still write to you. Maybe not personally, but somehow, through the expanse of the internet. Maybe my words still make it through to you. Instead, I wonder if I am still entitled to listen to the songs you played for me. Instead, I wonder if I still have the privilege of translating my remaining love for you into the things I create.

I think about a lot of things. They keep me up at night. Mostly, I think about you. I think when we went our separate ways, you broke up with me more than I did you. And I think when we called it quits, I intentionally left a piece of me with you hoping I can one day go back for it. I think about best-laid plans that will never see the break of day and I turn them into fiction. I think about how much I want to stop writing about you. I think about what could have been all the time because they give me false comforts.

And false comforts, however temporary, is better than an eternity of missing you, knowing you’re right there but I just can’t have you.

I am running out of songs to dedicate to people.
I am running out of nicknames to dispense.
I am running out of love for somebody new.
And I suppose, this fear of running out, is why I keep running back to you.