i was high on xanax going through my first real breakup in charles village while baltimore cracked open around me.
the riots had started or no the protests, the uprisings, the reckoning. depending who you asked.
i was 26 and felt like the world was ending both inside and outside of me.
she left me on a wednesday, i think.
by friday, police cars were burning downtown.
by sunday, helicopters throbbed overhead like angry gods.
i walked to the 7-Eleven with a hoodie up and no destination, just that soft pharmaceutical numbness in my chest like packing peanuts instead of lungs.
no one tells you heartbreak feels like a concussion.
like someone hit you in the head but also took your bones.
i remember the CVS on North & Penn going up in flames on the TV while i texted her “please just call me.”
charles village was quiet, like it didn’t know what to do with itself. kids with signs wandered up St. Paul Street, shouting through megaphones and pain. and i sat in my little apartment, watching the city fight for its life while i couldn’t even get out of bed.
everyone said it was about freddie gray.
but it was also about every time no one listened.
i think that’s why it hit so hard.
because i knew exactly how that felt.
the girl i loved ghosted me like i was nothing.
the city i loved was screaming and no one with power seemed to care.
i didn’t know how to be alone.
i didn’t know how to come down.
i didn’t know who i was without her.
me. baltimore. all of it.
and in the ashes, maybe there’d be space to rebuild.