Alone in Toronto
Everywhere I go, I look with envy at little signs of permanence.
Maybe it’s walking a dog.
Maybe it’s being a little too dressed up for anything other than an event that clearly isn’t a destination wedding.
I guess it’s only envy in the places that stand out. Though, lately, it’s more places than usual. Toronto was just okay on first impression (it’s the mindset, which we’ll get to, I promise), but I still eyed a group laughing off the lake path with a white pastry box and silver “3” and “0” balloons. They live here.
I can say with honesty that I seldom experience loneliness — only placelessness. That I miss places before people and the processing is wonky and it’s gotten me into hot water more times than I can count. That I’ve hated myself for it, but only sort of, and that I’ve taken every second of such a normal abnormality for granted.
I run a lot, but it’s usually my problem.
I flit a lot, too, but it’s always in a circle.
It still is, of course, because it has to be on paper. But I don’t know where this one ends, and it’s bigger than me and his cruel hands are bigger than mine and his circle is compromised and mine is shaking and I’m scared out of my mind and sending ten thousand emails per day, two of which I hope will stick, like a landing, somewhere, safe here, some day.
