by Nicole Jones

229 words (1.5 minutes)

      I sure miss my old life. When everything was crazy and it didn't matter because I didn't worry about it. When I had many friends that didn't mean much and not just one that held my sanity. When lying bed all day on a Sunday was acceptable because I was in the arms of a man filled with venom love, watching pathetic shit on tv. When I didn't know what I wanted to do and my dreams weren't even a thought. I miss the constant headaches of music playing at all hours of the night, and suffocating muffled voices under pillows. Where tele-tubbies were pushed in prams, and garbage was called rubbish. I miss the rusty fridge where slugs made their homes, and eggs rotted for months in the corner with the vegetables.

I miss having all my adventures unknown and only a car ride away. Where I drank tea fifty times a day just for the hell of it, watching neighbors in a stale smelling room. With fag burns on the carpet, and how our couches went from putrid green to flowers over night. Being able to identify yourself in the writing scratched upon the bathroom walls, in the mold that grew so rapidly. I miss feeling like it was all an illusion, but realizing only today, all reality of where my heart was will lie forever in me.

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