it’s december and i’m tired of waiting for you like i wait for snow to trickle out of the mundane gray clouds which lack of christmas spirit (i miss it when we were young) and i’m tired of waiting for a bitter breeze to hit me like an unexpected blizzard because it’s 2024 and it’s only getting worse from here (we’re going to die alone, i’m sure of it) and i’m tired of hearing that global warming is a facade but waking up to 80 degree weather in november is normal and eating dry turkey with a smile on my face is normal (i’m only cold on the inside) and discussing my weight and the fan fictions i wrote at the dinner table and not hearing from you on thanksgiving is normal - a text, all i’m asking, pleading from you is a text - hit me like a snowstorm and tell me everything is going to be okay (please, god, give me real normality), that the world won’t end from overheating, even though it already did when you didn’t wish me a happy birthday (i’ve lost track of how many months it’s been since i’ve last heard from you).