Maybe it’s because I’m used to being broken and seeing broken things that I never complain when the ice machine is on the fritz or the air conditioner isn’t quite cold enough. Maybe it’s because I love the numbness that I find it easy to shut my eyes for three second intervals while I drive, a little dare for myself. I’ve been internally screaming for months and before I reached the boiling point, I let my car drift across lanes, regaining control just before disaster struck. The roads are silent and lonely at two in the morning, perfect for escapism. I want it to stay this fuzzy time forever, always have the perfect wind of a summer night to spill my secrets into.
Ps. Sorry I’ve been gone; it’s been rough goings.