I don’t like when people religiously and vocally promote New York City as the only and best city to exist. I don’t like when I don’t make time to read my books. I don’t like when friends start to exclude me from their lives like we are strangers. I don’t like explaining Arkansas to people who ask where I’m from. I don’t like when I run from myself and my feelings.
I like that I have people to run to when I’m scared of my feelings. I like when I cry about things that hurt because it feels less hurtful after. I like the books, words, little things, and people I collect. I like that I’m from Arkansas, and I really like that I left Arkansas. I like that I’m choosing to move to a city that I chose for no other reason than it being a place that makes me happy.
I don’t like this bedroom I’m sitting in because it holds all the memories of a past I’d like to leave behind. I don’t like that I didn’t get an ending or explanation. I don’t like that I don’t know you.
I like myself and my inner world, and I’m selfish with it now because I learned from you.
I don’t like that I gave you 150% of myself, I want it back.