My crooked bed

We were having dinner at a very nice restaurant yesterday evening. I was there with my mom and Nat, who had not seen each other for like, 5 years.
I had had a terribly shitty day. The kind of days that make you wanna quit without sleeping on it.
And as mom scrolled down and swiped left and right on her phone to find some picture - and it felt kind of like she was actually trying to find her way in a giant matricial maze to little success - she happened to come across a picture of me and her.
It did not take her long, as she seemed to instantly realize the pecadillo, to change course accordingly - and yet it awakened the dormant sadness melanoma in my guts. Its roots expanded to my brain and to my heart and I felt sick to my stomach for a moment. I calmed myself down eventually, after a few never-ending seconds of hard work.
The remainder of the evening went fine.
I was exhausted upon coming home, and on the way back I really, truly thought a singular thought,
God I miss you.
And what I missed at that moment was not just the affection, the false sense of love or the shallow desire for physical mingling. It was you I missed, with all your faults, your ugliness and everything in between.
I felt terrible when I finally laid down in my bed. Trapped, in a game of monopoly in which I can seldom afford anything without it being taken away, and unable to drop out. Going in squares.
Because going in circles certainly is counterproductive, but at the very least, the angles are pretty smooth and the trajectory straight-forward, or at least so to speak.
With the square, you do feel like you're doing fine: you just have to go ahead, period. Even easier this way, right? The problem is, at some point, you run into a corner. Literally run into it.
It kind of mars the whole my-life-is-going-okay vibe you took time to build along the straight line.

The both of us, we were a crucial mistake, a heavy misunderstanding. But we weren't heavy per se.
I mean, 250 pounds together, that sounds about right.
Yet my bed is a piece of junk, just like most stuff in my place, and a couple days ago it broke for no good reason. Now I have to sleep in a crooked bed because of you, even though you are nonexistant in my present.
This sucks.

It's not the only consequence of my putting too much hope in a story that was dead on arrival- I all but hate my study material, and it's almost succeeding at disgusting me of one of the things I hold dearest to heart altogether. The only buddy I could rely on to get me through the day is not here half of the time - and while I am in class cursing myself, he is shagging my ex.
I write, even though I don't enjoy writing; I even took up drawing again, all to take my mind off the fact that this has probably been, all things considered,
The worst year of my life so far.



2017, dude, I'm so looking forward to meeting you.