it took me several years,
with hours of bad therapy, a shitload of prescription drugs,
a dozen of naked neighbours spotted in the windows of the block opposite mine while smoking on the balcony,
seven healed cuts on a place i’ve never shown to anyone,
a million stiff smiles,
a hundred bottles of wine drunk all by myself,
countless sleepless nights, weeks i barely remember,
an album never written and recorded, songs never sung to those who they really were for,
a couple of relationships never meant to work out,
friends, lost and found, some dead and some living,
limbs, broken and mended,
hopes, and fears, and expectations never met, chances blown,
hair grown, then cut, then grown again,
a fuckload of fuckups, minor and major,
a number of shitty jobs, hated to a certain extent, some well-paid, some not so much,
eating skin off my fingers,
eating out in fancy cafes but never the person i was there with,
making a house become a home,
with blank white walls and white furniture and an old tv painted white just to fit in
and now i finally got used to living alone
and i’m unafraid
and i want to face the future
with a smile on my face, ready for the fight.
and maybe i still need time to process all this shit,
but i’ve never felt better, and i’ve never felt so good all by myself,
and thank goodness gravity keeps everything in place so i don’t have to pick up the pieces after every breakdown,
and i’m whole,
and i’m never coming back.