Dying Impressions of a City

Skyline
The streetcar is pulling away and I gaze at the receding skyline. Memories. To think that I just moved here eight months ago and I'm ready to say goodbye. I avert my eyes only to catch the penetrating gaze of this woman that asks me questions - questions that make me uncomfortable.
- Are you running away?
- Yes.
- You can run away from everyone and everything that you know but you can't run away from yourself.

Sentimentality
I gave. My blood and sweat, my nights and weekends that I stole from myself, my peace and bliss. I gave. I would've liked him to tell me to stay. He didn't. I would've liked him to tell me he was sorry to see me go. He didn't. Then what did I give for? For nothing. For money. To feed the bloody machine. And then she came. And he. And he. And he. Twenty people. And they told me they were sorry to see me go. And I realized why I was leaving. I used to be appreciated once but I no longer am.

"The City is My Friend"
She told me she missed it but from the day she'd step foot there, she knew she wouldn't stay forever. The greatest city in the world. She left because she missed her family. We dipped into the chocolate mousse and I realized how similar we were. I hope this does work out though. If you arrive with the knowledge you must depart, then what are you really working towards - leaving?

Voyeurism
Yesterday morning, as I took the subway to work, I saw this guy sketching a woman on the subway. She had no idea she was being observed and captured on paper. She sat, legs crossed, reading her paper, thinking. And he sketched. I watched his facial expressions. There was a desire to remain anonymous yet he knew I watched. He sketched. There was a strange sexual energy about this whole thing yet he was a man of about twenty and she was a woman in her late thirties. She was beautiful. As the subway came to a halt at his stop, he ripped out the sketch and dropped it in her lap as he stole out, desperate to avoid a confrontation.

Douleur
I've been left in this great, big apartment alone with boxes stacked upon each other, teetering, threatening to come crashing on top of me. We manage to amass so much crap and here I am with mine. And I wonder - what began with a sweet douceur has been replaced with a sharp douleur. I was abandoned on my last night in this depressing space. Is that the real face of humanity - non-confrontational, sweet yet complex, at times inconsiderate?

Adieu
I've always been uncomfortable with goodbyes yet I still conjure up the perfect one in my mind. What do you do when you really want to grovel at someone's feet and beg them to stay? You hug them, tell them to stay in touch and make a quick escape to shed a solitary tear. Perhaps it does end that way but goodbyes are still crucial - they are our last interaction with a person and likely the one they'll remember us by.

I'll be back
But when I tell them that, they don't believe me. They think this is for good.