it's snowing in chicago
and sometimes i feel so much so strongly about that place i wonder what could hav possibly possessed me to leave. missing city lights. missing sirens echoing down the street, missing late nights and early morning mist, missing cigarettes in the rain, missing the nausea from being high on the train, missing the billboard outside my window, missing my noodles, missing 2am baking sessions, missing 4am studio chats, missing the alleys and wide streets and sunsets and the train and the buildings and my grocery store route and my cafe order and my shower and my bathroom floor and my rugs and my canvas bag and my paints and my brushes and my sodas and my curry and my egg ramen and my gochujang and my airport route and my late nights dancing and my ubers home after a rave and my nights that turned into days that turned into weeks kneeling on my floor in front of my canvas like i was praying to it, missing movies in my bed and the draft from my window and my fairy lights and my curtain and my shoes and my fast food meals and my pharmacy cakes and my midnight tea and my midday naps and god i wish i left in a way that was my choice and not because i had to. but of my own volition and in a state of mind where i could make my decision and properly say goodbye to everything i loved. instead of hunched over my toilet taking dramamine and sleeping better in that car than i had in months. [] is in my memories of that place too. all my [] is there with me. and i can still feel everything in my heart, if i close my eyes and listen to those songs i can almost be back there. even while it feels like i will never return, that i can't go back and now it's gone forever, maybe i should have loved it more when i was there, even though it feels impossible to love it more in the moment than i do right now. xiu xiu sitting down next to the stove. cardboard box tables and knocking on peoples doors. shots out of hello kitty glasses. not sleeping and going to the airport at 6am and finally, finally taking the plane all the way home