Pick it back up.
I lean over the island,
elbows on stone, chin in hand,
gripping the cold mug in the other,
eyes locked on the screen.
“…‘wanna see you.’”
I drum my fingers against my jaw.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?
“Not‘trying to smash’anymore?”
My vision narrows and tunnels and shrinks.
Until the phone is all I see.
Then—
BUZZ.
I jump,
and the coffee jumps with me,
splashing over the rim.
It’s not him. It’s Celie.
A GIF of Cartoon Drake sobbing.
‘Drake this morning’she texts.
With a wine glass emoji.
As if she’s the one who left him crying on the bench last night.
Meanwhile,
Drake posted a gym thirst trap an hour ago.
She’s moved on to her delusional bitter-ex stage.
I look back at Andrew’s message.
I wanna see you
That’s all I get?
No punctuation. Just raw-dogging grammar.
Dis what you do wit’ my numbah, huh?
Bro, we dry-humped in a bookstore.
