#latenightwriting
It's the worry you need to get in front of
Run, walk, or crawl but keep moving
The son of a ***** is a persistent ache
But it is you who create it and make it several hundred repeating thoughts at all hours of the night or day when the sun is high and you get lost in the bright bright bright lights of tomorrow
You cultivate the stampede of words that echo childishly throughout your mind as they fiddle with you
And if you let the big bulging tidal wave of anxiety and fear of tomorrow be one bigger than the tiny sentence you yourself created it actually is
Well, it's time to get up and check your clock and hands and apartment
You created this, this thing called "worry"
And in the end, you'll get rid of it
It's figuring how to, how to be ahead of this thing called "worry"
Reading, walking, working, sweating, driving, thinking about somebody you've ****** thinking of what you'll be able to get done tomorrow or right now or eventually, and it'll happen
Think of things bigger than the thoughts of worry of life of tomorrow
Think of what you're doing at the moment
Think of the World Cup or the driving test you took when you were a child
Think of the tv shows you laugh at
Think of the faces on the bus
Think of science think of painting
Think of your height or deli sandwiches
Think of the Tuesday night traffic you hear outside of your apartment window and think, where are they going tonight? Will my thoughts go with them or will I leave them here
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
I guess I should start by saying that I don't really believe in other universes or alternate dimensions.
But sometimes I like the idea of manipulating where I am now into something... better?
Only to find that I'm not in that kind of better place.
So... until I reach that realization again, here I go.
In another universe, we met at the auditions for my first musical. I wasn't scared to audition because I finally wanted to put myself out there as a singer.
We both get chorus parts... figures.
In another dimension, I was told to pursue my music career like it was the most important decision I was ever going to make.
I stick with it.
In another timeline, I spent every lunch hour making friends laugh at my dumb jokes.
In another universe, I never lost those friends.
In another timeline, those texts never made it to their phone. Maybe they didn't even get on the ship.
In another dimension, I never stopped hugging you.
In another world, I stuck with friends I had.
In another universe, there was never that fight. We never had a falling out, and there was never a time where we stopped being friends.
In another universe, I never got on that plane to Paris.
In another timeline, I finally recovered from losing all my friends. I finally got better.
In another dimension, I stopped writing about how much the past 5 months broke me.
In another universe I never hesitated to text anyone for fear of interrupting their life.
In another world, I never recover.
In another dimension, I never get over it. I let it consume me and I commit suicide. I never said anything to let anyone know when the end would come.
In another world, I spoke up and said I miss you.
In another dimension, we never met.
I guess that would be a sad place to be.
In another universe...
It never rained on the pride parade downtown. It stayed sunny, and people kept walking in full glow of their personality.
In another world, I did something or said something worthwhile.
In another dimension
In another universe
In another world
In another life...
I was gonna be okay.
And I knew somehow...
That we'd be there.
Together.
But none of these alternate realities exist.
I guess I just like the idea of another outcome.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 1:42 AM UTC
He said,
“One day I just said **** it.”
Like that. Just like that.
Quit his job, sold his stuff, bought a van
and now it’s him and Wolfie,
his pointy-eared pup,
somewhere between red dirt and blue sky
on a road that doesn’t ask for permission.
I found him on some random forum
— not even supposed to be there —
we talked tonight,
he told me things like I wasn’t just
a name with no face.
He told me about the sunsets he never planned to see,
how they sneak up on him like a song
that makes you stop walking,
how the sky melts into colours
too good for photos.
And Wolfie,
perched besides him, alert and calm,
ears slicing the wind
like she was born for freedom.
He said he did everything he was told to do.
Uni. Job. Money. Success.
People clapped. He felt nothing.
So he left.
No map, just vibes and Spotify.
And here I am.
crammed into a plastic desk,
under buzzing lights
learning about wars
I’ll never fight
in clothes that aren’t me
surrounded by people
who talk but never say anything real.
I told him I’m 15 and tired all the time.
He said,
“That’s heavy for 15.”
I said
“It’s heavier when no one notices.”
He said
“Hold on. You won’t always be stuck.”
And maybe it’s weird,
but I keep thinking about his van
under that endless sky,
Wolfie with ears like tiny sails
chasing ghosts across sunburnt sand,
and him
choosing beauty on purpose.
And I pretend I’m not
this ghost in a uniform
but her
the girl who said **** it
and meant it.
Maybe one day,
when the world stops demanding hall passes,
I’ll do it too.
Maybe I’ll find my own road
and a dog like Wolfie
and a van
and a sky that doesn’t judge me
for wanting to disappear
into something more.
May 3, 2025
May 3, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC