I am lost.

The NYU students are out in full force today. Most of them just moved back to town. Classes are just starting for the semester. Washington Square Park is the perfect place for me right now. It has no connection to the things I don't enjoy remembering. It seems like everyone here is either a hipster or a tourist. I feel like I fit in. Not because I'm a hipster or a tourist, but because like them i am also running from something. Or a lot of things.

There are little birds under the bench I am sitting on. If they're waiting for crumbs they're wasting their time. I have no food. I lost my appetite when my ex dumped me. We were together for four years. It happened two Saturdays ago. We went to a club together and he met a guy. He left me for him that night. A dinner guest recently asked him why he didn't transfer to a job location closer to where we lived. He said it was a loyalty thing.

I'm staring at my bruised fingernail as I write. I slammed it in my car door a few months ago. I remember that it hurt badly but I don't remember what it felt like. The car is destroyed now. A few weeks after a tree fell on it while I was sleeping. Termites. Karma can be a bitch.

A few feet away from me a girl is playing a cover to a love song. It's the same song that close friends of mine played at their wedding. I tried to model my failed relationship after their very successful one. I called my ex babe because I liked how genuine and sweet it sounded when they said it to each other. I loved him.

I'm not a smoker, but there is a pack of cigarettes in my bag. Marlboro Lights. I bought them because they're the kind my father smokes when he doesn't know how to cope with bad news. Right now I am struggling to cope. I don't like how they taste or make me smell, but they are good at keeping me from crying. I wonder if this is why my father smokes. I don't want to remember what this feels like.