this is a love letter.

blah.

running around chicago with a new boy, it's too warm out and we're too mean to each other. everytime he disappears somewhere, the last boy calls me and hangs up without leaving a message. we go to the zoo, yell at the sea lions and climb a fence to look at the warthog with the most tusks, soft pretzels with mustard and vegan chicago pizza with spinach, movies i've seen too often and jokes i've never heard before. i feel like myself again.

depressed on the subway to the airport. sitting next to each other doing crosswords, sly stealing answers. it's getting colder the farther out of the city the train takes us. you're late for work and i'm going to miss my plane. you remember not to bro hug me, but you're still late for work and my plane is delayed. delay delay delay. six hours later, im waiting for another train in newark, waiting for a bus in new brunswick, waiting outside the kitchen door because what am i doing here again and again and again. i could have a life somewhere else where i'm myself again, or i could keep coming home again and again and again and keep forgetting who i am and why i'm here.

the last boy tops it off. it's eight am, i'm making a mixtape, i get a text message from a number i'm trying to forget: 'i still think about you everyday, i wish we could talk.' it's seven am there (it's seven am in chicago, too) and the only thing we maybe still have in common is that neither of us can sleep if you're thinking about me a thousand miles away from one more place i don't belong.

i'm losing my mind & i just bought a drumset off craigslist. i'm too obsessed with the interpersonal. messy life.