If You’re Reading This…

It’s 11pm on a Sunday. I’ve got a mountain of grad school work due tomorrow morning by 9am, and I’ve done none of it. Instead I’m watching Dragon Ball Z. Reliving the good ol’ days. This has to be the twentieth episode I’ve watched today. I’m not really watching it though. It’s just background noise.

I’m actually aimlessly swiping on Tinder. She’s hot. She’s not. Too tall. Too slim. Too far. She’s cute. Left swipe, left swipe, left swipe.

I feel it again. I hate when I feel like this. I take a bite of my now cold chicken parm sandwich. I’m too lazy to get up and reheat it. I’m not even interested in the taste of it. I’m not even hungry, it’s just kind of in the way.

I can’t get comfortable on the couch. This damned couch. Why can’t I get up?

I should talk to someone about this. Who can I call? It’s late. 11:07pm. I could call her. I want to call her. But I won’t. She’s got her own thing going on now, and the baby’s probably asleep. I want to hear from her and not want to talk to her at all — at the same time. You know how that shit goes.

I should really call my mom. Lately we’ve been bonding and shit. It’s been pretty cool.

I unlock my phone. 11:13pm. How did you end up here again, boy? Will she even know what to say? If anything she’ll understand. Or will she? I put down the phone. Why do you always do this? I don’t have all the answers, Sway. My head is on fire. My chest is tight. I swallow the lump. Where the hell is this coming from? 11:15pm. I’m sweating, but the AC is on. I decide to write. My pen cannot possibly keep up with my thoughts right now. I open a new tab. I Google some shit. I end up here.

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