Love from the Windy City

The thing is, we're both in our own worlds. Me drinking red wine and planning my escape, him getting high and content with the here and now, literally.

I'm leaving, I'm happy to say. I will very soon be writing from the confines of my apartment in Chicago. So the Bartender and me? This is nothing. While exercising today (where I get my best ideas), I realized that if I stayed here, I'd make new friends, I'd fall in love with the Bartender, despite me recognizing all his bad habits right this very second.

I haven't been in love in a very long time.

I'd rather have Chicago. (Or maybe I'd just rather have me. Just-- me.)

(And it pains me to say this, right this very second. I'd rather be in love. I'd rather love someone who is all wrong for me. I'd rather stay here and love him. I'd rather spend my time cuddling and smiling like a fool and not behind a computer, ranting and writing and working. Working. I'm leaving. I'm leaving and the plans have been made, I am going, and of course, right this very second, I could be falling in love. Instead, I'm searching for cheap flights.)