I saw you today from the other side of my car window. Waiting right below the street lamp where you and I once hailed a taxi together. It was a frigid January evening and the streets were cluttered with drunken flirts and a distant ringing of reggaeton. I’ve doused myself with enough whisky and had thought the night should be over early rather than later; these days I start my mornings before seven, with double pours of coffee, enough to keep me active though hazed, enough to jumpstart the day, enough to help me remember what life was like before you and I and before you and I was no longer.
I’ve gone through enough breakups in my life to know that it all pans out the same. There’s a period of sadness - that aching, throbbing of pain that jolts you awake in the middle of your sleep, or pushes you to get a tattoo, a haircut, a random trip, a stranger’s kiss, another drink, just anything that could help you from sinking so deep into your conscious melancholy…and then it eventually gets better.