I never feel more alive than when I’m fresh out of a breakup or a shitty relationship. I snap back to reality and remember all the things I wanted to do with my life, that’s how I recognize I was with the wrong person. Who I’m with will be engrossed in my to-do list of experiences, enlighten theirs with me; and cross develop one for the both of us to experience – and while we check off empty boxes together we’ll fall into an intoxicating kind of love. Recently feeling more alive than previous months; I sat there unaccompanied and scared thinking to myself what if that was ‘the one’ and I just let him go? Turning memories into forgiveness and turning a blind eye to the issues that would rear their ugly head in our finest hour, I needed my inspiration back, so once again I compromised myself; subdued realities into fantasies pretending it was different this time and you’d actually learned something, I applied my laws of physics and got to work on the practice of anatomy. Abruptly I realized you weren’t my inspiration, I could care less where your interests lie and what you’d like me to do. I’m inspired by myself, everything I’ve come out of life on top of, matters of endurance, and situations where light at the end of the tunnel was as likely as the Vikings seeing a super bowl. This relationship I had convinced myself perfection nearing, wasn’t anything more than a stubbed toe.