I went to a club, and I remembered the club we went to together, how I treated you, how you didn’t talk about, how I biked home alone that night. I remembered being unsure, but you were still there. I miss all those days I could spend with you. They were so special. I remember waking up next to you, playing, making love, enjoying our bodies, our selves. Lately I have been thinking that in the old days, I would always say that I don’t regret anything, that everything was good the way it turned out in the end. I no longer think that. Have I changed? Have the world spinned around too much for me to be able to say that? Has it entangled itself and me with it to the point where I want to go back to where it all started? But there is no going back. I never thought about that before, wanting to go back. But now I really want to. Time really is a terrible master. It just goes on, terribly, uncontrollably, marches on and we cannot stop or turn it. It ticks around and I’m bound by it, a hostage to it.

I am sometimes unsure why I’m here, why I keep doing all of this, it feels like some charade, some elaborate disguise of my own emptiness, that it all ought to end. I am tired, I want to go home. I just want it to end.