tyndale found nothing in this town

there was nothing. it was that simple. if you made it until 30 you wouldn't make it any longer. there was little to tie you down. maybe the horror of your family stumbling upon your body, if they did, maybe a sunset, who knows, but really, nothing to convince you to stay.

this town is littered with potential past graves. the parking ramp you were going to jump from. the train tracks you could have stepped on. the overpass you could have catapulted off. the lake you could have driven into. the garage you could have hung yourself in. the nightstand that held your razor blades.

there was nothing in this town besides that. no people you knew, no experiences to enjoy. you tossed yourself halfway around the world, tossed back a bottle of liquor and benzos, tossed back all the stress of work with the tobacco spit in your mouth that leaked out and made you want to tear every inch of carpet out of your room, all to try to escape, but it didn't do anything.

you never thought it'd be a person. maybe that was your folly. you used to dream about waking up and looking outside and seeing a palm tree. about walking in winter somewhere warm enough to be in a t-shirt, no longer caring about scars. you used to dream about chicago neighborhoods or paris charm or kuala lumpur hawkers. but dreams are just that, and the older you got the more they became taunts instead of goals. there is no charm in a bedroom that is filthy, in a life that has nothing to keep you here. everything becomes routine. no matter where it is.

you convinced yourself that the only mistake was staying. was keeping yourself here, holding onto to... something, anything.

maybe that's why you'd do anything to not lose her. maybe that's why at work, sitting at your desk, all you can do is think about her. maybe that's why you want so hard to be perfect for her, even though you know she doesn't require it at all. nothing in life ever made you want to live a life like she does, just to see her smile, hear her laugh, look at her dark brown eyes, cuddle on the couch and wonder why this guy is burning his dessert on the cooking show she is so good at coming up with recipes for. maybe that's why you tear up the few times you've fought. it's conflict, but it's conflict with her. and she's not the only thing keeping you alive in the sense that she is solely responsible for your safety, she's not someone who has to cradle your mental health, and your handle on things is the best its been in so many years, but for awhile the world was grey. the palm trees were grey. the neighborhoods - what few there are here - were grey. now nothing is grey. and no matter what, you always want to see this color. the nicest person you've ever met is spending her life with you. she is nobody's keeper, but she will always keep you with her.