They say a new storm is coming but that's not why the streets here seem so empty. There are always people around, there's always traffic and noise but I'm afraid that if I scream all I'll hear is the echo of my own voice bouncing off the cold glass facades along Broadway. Instead I keep quiet just because it's... no, let me start over.
I don't do this to get validated. I've never cared about what people think, I just need to know I'm not alone. On election night I passed by Times Square and the tension in the air, the excitement and the anger and it frightened me because I felt nothing at all. Which pathological liar and hypocrite gets to tell me what to do for the next four years?
They care, the masses gathering to see their votes projected in neon colors on the Empire State Building, as if it really mattered and maybe it really does. I listened to their heartbeats and felt their hands creeping up under my clothes, so close until I almost couldn't breathe.
I went home and turned off the lights, closed the windows and my bedroom door, as I'm sitting here now, writing in the dark. It's 2 a.m, I'm browsing through your comments and emails and all the sweet things you've said to me. You compliment me on the way I write and every time you do my heart skips a beat, but it stops entirely when someone tells me I understand.
Ever since my father died I've been lost somewhere in a storm, alone in the dark, unable to make sense of the world around me. That's why I'm doing this, to at least try. Every word I post here is a piece of that puzzle I'm trying to solve, as hopeless as it sometimes seems. Like taking drugs to get over an alcohol addiction.
And when you tell me that the way I think somehow makes sense, when you tell me I'm not alone in this, I know it wasn't for nothing.