Scrolling through Instagram stories, for borrowed privilege bores me less than real privilege. At times, I feel very hot; at times, I feel alone. I got bad vibes — come and make me. There is only so much pleasure in life, the same way a hand will start bleeding if it hits the wall often enough. You see? You want it too much. The world exists in an equilibrium of day and night, clouds and empty space. My room is big enough for two, but my mind would rather stay alone.

He told me he would visit a friend for the weekend; they are going places, I think. I’m also going places, but it’s kind of unlikely that we will meet, as my places are purely metaphorical and theirs are real. It’s like comparing the Bible to someone actually being a good person. He is my Jesus in this story, though, for his words soothe my pain.

I write the same way I talk: in loops and useless beauty.