there’s this little rumble brewing. we are all stepping around the same date, less than a week.
i have been getting texts. one of them reads is it okay if i don’t want to even fucking look at the results i just want to sleep through it all. i don’t know how to respond. i have this habit of wanting to cut my hair and then keeping it long. i like to snip split ends any time i have scissors in my hand. i’ve been walking around with sharp things a lot lately.
i have been getting emails. on account of the fact we don’t know what the world looks like in a week, we will not be holding classes on wednesday. i want to ask my classmate - do you think she’s just planning on being hungover but it doesn’t even feel funny. i stare at it for a long time and then make an annotation to my calendar about due dates. the story i was going to turn is about being bisexual and young and having good friends.
i have been getting resume requests. jobs all come with mission statements and addendums. it feels silly to plan for something in 2021. that doesn’t even sound like a real year, my sister says. on my cover letter, i consider typing - there are many who would liken me to a cockroach.
i have been getting little worries. we are in the skype together, and he says - i love you all so much. i want to watch the world change with you. how terrifying a thought. we make a joke about it. about penning each other letters across the rest of the end of our lives. they say - oh! you’ll be armed with a hot glue gun.
more and more people reach out. do you want to meet up? they pass little hopes and keep little loves. will you be here? do you need me to come? are you safe? i’ll get in my car and drive. do you need to just get drunk?
what else is there. these tiny little proofs of love. of wanting to hold hands, of wanting to be together, of not being done.
seriously, i’ll get in my car this moment. seriously, i’ll buy the plane ticket. seriously, i’ve been meaning to run. say the word and i’ll come. say the word and i’ll come. say the word and i’ll come.
