This is Torture.

Bsd

I am living in a warzone.
It descended upon me unexpectedly, this war. But I should have known it was coming. Only my own foolishness prevented me from seeing it. My belief that "someone else will take care of this". I deluded myself into thinking that this would be an easy battle, merely a skirmish, a firefight, and then silence would prevail, and I would continue on with my life. As simple as that.
How did I not know?
I am not so stupid as that. I am not so immature as that.
And yet, I was.
I am only speaking about a fight over my apartment.
About a stupid choice - hasn't anyone else ever made such a choice, where you thought you were doing the right thing, and when it dawns on you that instead, you have chosen something horribly, terribly wrong, it is too late to fix because everyone involved is now in untenable positions?
In two months (Oh, please, my G-d, make it sooner than that), this agonizing distress will only be a memory.
I repeat: This, too, is good.
This, too, is good.
This, too, is good.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
But the agony of knowing I have done the wrong thing, that miscommunications and misinterpretations and hasty decisions have interfered with people's lives, knowing that there is no going back, of feeling that I cannot even speak to the one person in the world I want and need to speak to this about, because I am too ashamed of the stupidity of my actions, is torturing me.
What have I done?
What will I do?
I wish a million wishes, and they all wish me away from here.
But I am here.
And no matter how many people I confess my agony and shame to, it does not take me away.
This scars me.
I've always loved my scars, because they tell a story. This scar will tell its story one day. On this day, however, it is an open wound.
And it hurts like hell.

Walking in Crown Heights

Bs"d

I walk alone.
No one knows me, yet I am recognizable by anyone.
I could be anybody.
I am myself.
My mind flutters with thought.
My body is grounded by the beat of my footsteps.
Buildings rise above me.
Lives are led underground, disconnected from the lives above.
Songs flee from my lips.
They are whispers.
Windows glimmer with light, give me glimpses.
Men smoke on street corners, arguing.
We rush across the streets.
My legs eat up the pavement.
I am aware of everyone and everything.
Possibilities.
Who knows who that might be?
A face seen here or there.
Will I see you again?
I feel beholden.
You are my people.
Unknown to me.
But mine.
The wind ruffles my hair, a foolish caress.
I smile, soaking it in.