We had a fight. We needed a
fight, because we started talking more again after that. It when
along the lines of, "What was the point of me coming back? I
thought I had a reason, and led to believe I had one, but I would
have gone to Turkey if I thought this was what I was coming back to."
"Because I could have made
you fall in love if I wanted to." "I had already left, and
just enjoying the now. So what you are saying is you were leading me
on?" "No." "Then why am I back here?"
The last night we stayed up and
talked till six in the morning, then slept for an hour before getting
up. Then we talked all the way to the airport. I can't recall what
was said. But I remember the feeling, enjoying the company, and
letting go the feeling of betrayal. It's funny I new I was clinging,
but it was mutual bidding war. I wanted to be caught up in a moment,
and like the alcohol it only hurts after the fact.
My head a mess of too much to
take in and process, looking to the forward, living in the moment,
and trying to put some closer on the past. Waking to the rumbling
sound of tires on tar mac as the the plain came into land. Then a
blur of language, cigarette smoke and an update of currency. On the
bus; the rush of a new city and being somewhere in the world that
I've always wanted to be, and crying at the same time with the
opposite of emotions. Replaying the last six weeks over though my
head.
As the Eiffel tower came into
view beaconing the city, the cleché
became true “I’d
rather feel shitty here”.
