Suffocation

What if we rename suffocation as not a cause of death, but a cause of life. It is very possible that we have all encountered it in this kind, and passed it off as something else. We recognize that are feelings are strong and we pass it off as just that. Sometimes we do something about it.
A week ago the cause of life suffocation ran into the cause of death suffocation. I think I slept for fifteen minutes that night. Father's day had just ended and my good friend drunkenly asked me for permission to do whatever with someone who had been an interest of mine, and who I also thought was interested in me. I was wrong and I had to run. But I waited till they woke up with each other, and I told them I was leaving. And I ran away, I don't want to say from the place I was so confident in, but I ran around it. I ended up in a Jewish Cemetery, and I sobbed until I figured they would start looking for me. I found it ironic that when dropped in a place I had never been before, I still found a cemetery on a hill, the closest to heaven I could get. I still wonder if I like these places because they are close to heaven and to the people and god I love, or because I rather be there than here. But maybe this strange location device planted in my brain, or more likely, my heart, makes me just that much more confident in Philadelphia.
The scary part of Philadelphia could have been the nervousness I held that I would feel guilty for being sad there and for tainting their skyline with my clouds. But we all have our clouds, they pass and intermingle above the skies we live beneath. Once we know that everyone else has their issues, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to live above the ground. I'd like to think that I just prefer to mingle in the Philadelphia skyline, rather than face the fear of trying to float above the Chesapeake Bay. I can jump puddles, but I can't swim in them.

The City of Brothery Love

I'm going home. Today I will enter my car a complete adult, because only adults drive three hours in cars to a place they anticipate being home. I am yes, excited. but as well, very nervous. Even though it is a mild weathered visit, what if I am wrong about choosing my home. I am a young adult and in that point of our lives we are merited with all sorts of bad decisions, and I'm up there with the best of them. But usually these bad decisions are indeed risks, but while in the process and premeditation of our deviation, we know we are doing wrong. There, however, is still this risk of having no fucking clue, in some cases little guidance and just like falling in love with a person, we must jump to fall in love with a place.
We all have a home, or as some of us call it "home home," technically your birthplace or the place of your childhood, or in some instances, where your parents reside with or without you. Now that I have broken away from what can be technically considered part of my home before, a hole in the ground with a rock it in contain the remains, of what in the eve of father's day, seems unspeakable. And it wants to make not just leave the thought, but leave this place.
In Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn's character, Holly Golightly proclaims to a man she just met, "If I could find a real life place that made me feel like Tiffany's, well, I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name." I have no furniture and no longer keep a cat, I guess I'm in her position. And it is a scary one, as we see so many people relate to Holly's character, leaving her 'home home' in an attempt to find love from not just people, but a place.
Even though it is very scary to make a decision, I do believe that my heart has taken this battle over from my brain, 'cause I have never felt my heart flutter so sweetly as when the Philadelphia skyline comes into view.