I can think of two things right now: 1. that I do not want to work tomorrow. 2. I’d like to fuck for the remaining hours I would not.

If this happened I would entertain the thoughts of possibilities. The imaginary. We can talk about music or film, play monopoly, eat unhealthy grilled cheeses while listening to mostly unknown post-punk. Smoke cigarettes even though we shouldn’t, order chinese when the snow leaves us in, drink vodka when the wine is gone, play video games to get lost, spin records just because we can, declothe because we’re tired of cloth.

I want to, one day, wake up and find all of this as some sort of reality. The idea that there is a possible inseperability living within. That every action, every course, takes its toll on the things that have brought me down. So for once, I can smile and be loved so to partake in the things I do alone, but have wanted to with another.

I’m mostly drunk tonight, barely making sense. I’m not even sure of what I type right now is coherent. But I’m sure of my heart. And as I sit here, listening to music, in my bed, guzzling Fiji water and Eggo waffles, I remain okay but sadly non complacent. The world is a rift, caught between the tides of me.