I’m going back to 505

It’s hope that kills you in the end.
But you wake up at 5.05 on Monday and carry on.
The baggage of reminiscing of what ifs and what not.
The lonely coffee and its bitter taste.
Fear of unconsciously adding some sugar while you’re half awake.
Hit or miss – that’s what life is, but not your fucking coffee.
Or your playlist.
Your once favorite song plays in the background but you don’t smile.
It doesn’t take you where you wanna be or where you loved staying.
It’s not home.
It’s ruins.
Used to be 505 but now…

Let’s not go there, right?

Because we know home is not a place.
We were taught that by people who didn’t love us.
Enough!
Or loved us in a way we’re afraid we won’t be loved again.
I said what I said. I wrote what I meant.
But you…
You read what you felt.
And that was not nearly all.
It can’t be because you don’t burn bridges.
Not across the river that makes you go with the flow.

You look for blessings before lining up the losses.
They stay gone.
They might never come back.
…but you don’t bury them.
The love they gave.
The home you once built.
The bricks in the wall you painted.
And the picture hanging on it.

It was worth it.

The liability of vulnerability.
The question of leverage in it.
And the answer to it.
Just know it is worth it.

Even at 5.05.

****