Tonight.

I look at your Nike Dunks and you are so attentive, so disconnected from society, from me anxiously expecting you to notice my stare. I look at my mismatched nails and it occurs to me that I am no good at being a proper lady. Where are you headed? I know I'm technically 4 stops away from a warm bed. 4 hours away from a home, but what about you? How accurate is that when I live in fantasy land? Imaginary lives with everyone that may come in contact with me, perhaps graze my shoulder as a passerby? None ideal but in close contact all the same. I still don't know what I'm searching for or why I'm on the metro at 4 AM. Some part of reality escapes me and I feel disoriented. I just want to hop a plane like you taught me to do. Cross that bridge into animosity and unreliability. Just distance and frequent miles. Perhaps tomorrow.