July 3rd

It’s nights like these I wish I smoked.
Summer nights in southern Maryland, dark and cooled from the heat of the day, leave too much quiet. You can get lost in them.
The cicadas are mocking me.
So I reach for my roommate’s cigarette and end up with a pen, but I figure one vice is as good as another.
I watch the lovers in the apartment across from mine as they move in silhouette behind closed blinds.
Sometimes loneliness crawls up inside of you without warning, sneaking up through your nostrils as you take a breath to congratulate the newly engaged.
It drags anxiety along with it to jam deep into the pit of your gut, just for fun.
I don’t mind the ache half as much as I used to, but I mind missing things I’ve never even had.
I mind missing the man I’ve never even met.
Because he, you know, has decided not to exist.
I mind praying to meet him anyway, even while knowing that if I ever did meet him,
I’d be running the hell away.
It’s nights like these I wish I smoked.