by Sarah O’Brien
Curled up on cold airport tile, your voice reverberates from the other side of this world: Everyone gets lonely sometimes. Not me, though, right? Not me, I have my independence. I have this jacket lent by two Moroccan men because they couldn’t stand to see me shiver. Crumpled ticket clutched closely to my chest as the 4 a.m. sky makes its exit, as the 5 a.m. sun surrenders its seductive glow. Rome is less romantic from Terminal 2, where families huddle for warmth and stale chips serve as supper. A homesick British chick asks about those American boys. “Cliché at heart,” haughty response, my head down, doodling hearts on an expired bus pass.
Yes, I was thinking of you, but also the steps of my apartment, tattooed with permanent engravings of temporary lovers. And yes, I miss you, but not the hellish tirades, hot tears wiped away so casually. Condescending, kind-of compliments that caused me to question. The who will be there and the what time will you be back and the why the fuck are you wearing that who are you trying to impress. Never been more alone, keeping from sleeping for fear my seven-year-old L.L.Bean backpack housing dirty laundry will pique a thief’s interest. Foreign feeling, but finally found: I’d rather be lonely than yours.
[Featured]Photography Image Credit: alone by Frankie Turiano. ©Copyright 2015, Frank Turiano
Snapping Twig – Spring – 2015
Vol: Feb 2015 thru Apr 2015