I’m writing these words on paper and four whole hours have passed. Four hours that I used to spend worrying.
I’m tired of wasting my time worrying. How many years is enough? 22 I think.
I don’t keep track of time when I’m letting all of my thoughts escape me. There are just too many to stop. They just keep pouring out of me.
The only other thing I’m waiting to lose track of time with is you. I don’t know who “you” is. But one day you will know, because I will post a funny picture of you lying in my bed with drool coming out of your mouth.
For now, I just have these stories. They’re all bottled up inside like the whiskey I can’t drink because it could kill me.
The hangover was never worth it. The scary slowing of the beating of my heart, the cinching in my chest.
You know what’s worth it? You. And for right now, and maybe forever, these words.
Who are you? I’m just pouring out these thoughts until you show up in my life. Maybe you are here already, eating protein in the break room, sitting at your desk like a character from The Office, dancing with pretty girls in heels.
Where does time disappear to when you lose it? I’ve always wondered that.