I Hope Your Heart Rots Alone in Your Bed

And when it should chose not to sleep alone, I hope that it's only comfort is in a warm body. I hope that you try to put pieces together again and again only to find that they will never fit. I hope you wrong no one and offend everyone. I hope you look into the mirror and question yourself, your well-being, your success and your lonesomeness. I hope that you remember that you're human.

I miss missing you. I miss the smell of rain and my old hairspray lingering about the early winter's humidity. Your confident walk, without a flake of modesty. You aren't New York. You don't have a lick of New York left in you, it seems, but I don't even know you and I question if I ever did. The posters of you in the subway miss me for you, when I am absent and asleep in bed.