Apocalyptic Thought

“And sometimes…things just happen.” Looking at the status makes me feel weak. I wanted to say something…anything to let the world know that I’m hurting. Everything sucks and my world is different. That is all I can manage— a poor attempt at a cryptic message. Seven likes aren’t bad though. # She’s gone. A quick awkward talk full of tears, laughs, and more tears ended with her breaking up with me. The door slams shut, and I sander to my room, one slow step at a time. Each foot fall fills me with dread, an emotion I was trying to brace for. With each step my face winces, each a little bit harder as I try to understand if this really happened, but no one is here to confirm. Just me, in my apartment— alone. In my room, I wipe my face of tears, snot, and sweat, but my glasses get in my way. I try to move them, but they get caught in my hair, pulling at the root. I still try to wipe the wetness away, but the glasses press hard against my face, po

Months of planning, fantasying how it’s going to go down, all stemming from a question of what brought us to this breaking point. It’s a question that needs clarity, the kind that you must climax (by one’s self) to verify the decision is sound. The clarity came, and the decision was made. I had to get out. All the stuff was already packed up: my clothes, my excessive amount of books that haven’t been read, the old games played once but will be play again but not anytime soon, the books of fad diets that can’t really be fad diets, old pictures of myself that I have no intention on keeping though my mom did but now she doesn’t want them either, and I’m ready to take the dog— she’ll kill me when she notices. The Snap Chat of her and the girls with the caption, “5 th rounds of mimosas make me cray cray, ” signals that I have a little time. She can’t hold her liquor and her friends will call her an Uber soon. My heart thumps against the center of my chest, doubting if I’m