chez moi

part of me just wants to move to montreal. start smoking again. read leonard cohen, naked, in the window of my cheap forth floor apartment full of white sheets and write bad poems until i write a good one. the rest of me thinks i would get lonely and is it really the right decision to begin with? i am torn. where do i want to live? what do i want to do? do i have the strength and fire to know what I want and do what I want? I need to find it or else i will be disappointed. i'm not good with disappointment, though i suppose no one is. i want to free myself from the trappings i create out of others. he says he sees the fire even though i hide it.