No longer about whether you have an addiction or not.

It’s about what that addiction is to.

The city is so pretty to look at, at the dead middle of the night.

I don’t mean, at like, a poncy corny late, like 12 am. No, I’m talking about 4 in the fucking morning.

When everyone is snuck up in bed.

Alone, clutching the pillow or the blanket, while they dream and don’t remember them after waking up.

Or, with their significant other. Maybe even hand in hand, if they haven’t been sleeping together for long.

Or maybe close together, head on arms.

Or if they have been together for a while now, probably facing in their own directions. Put themselves to sleep wondering what to do next. What else is left to look for?

And they make that list in their head before falling asleep and having multiple dreams. But not remembering any when they wake up.

I remember looking down at the street, in Karachi.

And now I’m doing it in an apartment in center city, Philadelphia.

I make myself smile with my heart.

I’m your addiction, aren’t I? We’re all addicted to one thing or another, even if we don’t admit it.

The internet maybe.

Daily cup of tea maybe. Caffeine.

Chocolates maybe.

Watching the news maybe.

Having the same dull routine every fucking day maybe. The comfort and convenience involved in that. And in human life in general. Or what we’ve made of it. Ourselves.

I try to stop, I try to do the best I could.

Make me smile, with your heart, for a change.