I’m made of the best intentions and the worst execution. I only long for the things I know I cannot have. I only love what I know will be lost. I only know how to lose myself to the point where finding it again is impossible.

Streetlights on the dark streets remind me of driving through the Lincoln Tunnel as a young girl and knowing the tight grip of fear around my neck that the walls would crumble and we would all drown. A coffin on four wheels. This will be where they bury me.

Slow asphyxiation is like loving you. You don’t give but you take. You lock yourself up in that box but won’t give me the key.

This time I will be the air that you miss. I’ll turn on my heels when your arms are outstretched and when you try to pin me somewhere between the backs of your lips and your hollowed out lungs, I will not be caught. This is the start of the chase.