thirty more minutes and all i need is a divine sign that he dreams of holding me in front of our TV while we watch the new year's ball drop. i sound ungrateful after all of these things that's slipped into my lap the past twelve months, yet i can't get my mind off of what i still want (who i still want).
i sit in front of my monitor clicking and clacking keys to express how i'm feeling to people i've never met because i'm too scared to sound unappreciative to you (because maybe i am). we slept so good last night, but when i saw her bracelet wrapped around your doorknob, pieces of me shut down. her pretty name was spelled in hot pink carved into little black squares, with neon ribbon. but my bear i worked ******* was in a box kept in the closet, and i think i know what that means.
twenty minutes until 2018 and i'm thinking back to earlier this year, around march, i was in ryan's car and i gave him a chapbook i made; i gave him a chapbook i put a lot of effort into. he kept it in his drawer, his bottom drawer, where all his trash papers went.
nine more minutes and i'm not with my mom, i'm not with the love of my life, i'm not with my friends. but the moon is with me, the air is with me, my blanket is with me, and so is the internet. so is my guitar.