Page 51 of Escape from the Green

The homelessness, the crazy people on their soapboxes, the unpleasant and constant stench of garbage, the way no one seemed to genuinely care about one another.

Except for maybe my new super who took perhaps too much interest in me, in the fact that I lived alone, that I was young and clearly naive to some things.

But I wised up quickly.

I voraciously took in every little bit of information I could to appear as though I fit in with them, that I had never been anything other than a human.

I put an extra lock on my door.

I learned to become friends with a little loneliness.

And as the three-month point came and went, I started to feel it.

A small bloom just trying to break through the dirt to be able to spread and blossom.

Just a seed of happiness given the right combination of elements to grow.

It would be okay.

I was sure of it.

I would meet more friends.

I would get a bigger apartment eventually.

I would create a life for myself.

The kind I had always dreamed about.

"I want one!" A child of maybe four demanded from beside me, pudgy hand lifted, finger pointing to the giant dinosaur I had gotten very familiar with over the past few months.

I was starting to regret being quite so specific in my note. I could have named a wing of the museum instead, given myself some room to roam.

But there was no changing that now. And I had a long human life ahead of me standing at this very spot every single Sunday.

As I stood there, my mind wandered as it so often did with nothing else to do but eavesdrop or memorize the signs around me.

And as they seemed prone to do, my thoughts drifted back to a warm body, protective arms, hands sifting through my hair, lips claiming mine, body pressing me into the mattress.

It was an image that woke me up many nights, leaving me tossing and sweating, all-too-aware of my hollowness, trying to think past the heaviness in my chest, the clawing need in my core.

Need.

But, more specifically, need for him.

I lived in a place with millions of men, had more than a few speak to me each day. I could have gone out with one of them. I could have gone home with one of them, done away with this unyielding desire.

But no matter how attractive they were, how charming their smiles, how slick their words, there had been nothing. No pull. No desire to know more. No aching for their touch.

It would change, I promised myself.

One day.

The memories would fade, taking with them the need for his hands on my skin.

Then I could feel for someone else.

We'd shared a lot in a short time.