She turns to me,
her eyes blinking painfully slow.
“Yo… I think I OD’d.”
I check the time on my cell.
13% battery.
8:34 p.m.
Drake’s four minutes late.
Andrew still hasn’t texted me.
I only gave him my number
and never took his.
It was safer that way.
If he wants me, he’ll have to text me.
Not the other way around.
Because I don’t chase.
What I do is sit here and check my phone every minute like a psychopath.
But whatever.
I’m fine. It’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
I used to wonder how it would feel
to have someone break me down
and put me back together in the same breath.
Clearly, I must’ve been out of my damn mind.
Turns out, that kind of breath steals more than it gives back.
Now my lungs are being strangled by violin strings echoing their final note, singing:
vulnerability is violent,
reckless,
and never worth it.
How it builds you up
just to watch you unravel.
How monogamy
