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there is so much difference between missing someone and missing memories. nostalgia is too often mistaken for undying love, flying is too often mistaken for an act of freedom rather than an act of escape

i'm breaking out instead of breaking in. these iron bars have weakened, i spent too much time drowning and not enough time burning, there were too many assumptions and there wasn't enough integrity

i don't daydream about you anymore. you turned from an intravenous addiction to a vapid mist of self discovery.

and so, here it is:

i do not love you.

i do not miss you.

i do not taste the bile at the back of my throat
when these words are in my mouth anymore

because there is no heaviness attached, there is no yearning, no wanting, no needing.

being sad was a waste of opportunity, possibility and happiness. there are so many beautiful things,

like sitting on a stony beach in southend absolutely freezing, but not minding because i am surrounded by people that i love,

or red lipstick,

or blue skies with vapour trails and trampolines and grass,

being told i smell nice,

wearing the same hoodie for a week straight.

dressing up - and not for you, not anymore.

this is a toast - to me,

and to the months i spent on the road.