4
It’s tough because I know you’re awake, too.
We are the only ones I know who will stay up until dawn simply because sleep is boring.
Not that either of us are doing anything worthwhile.
But I am awake in a big empty house and you are awake and I know the room you’re sitting in even, I know exactly what you’re doing and it can’t be a together thing and that’s tough.
It’s not impossible, let’s not go that far. But it is tough, and I don’t do well with tough.
In a world of one-touch can openers, instantaneous information, comfortable clean cotton suburbs, I’m not so good with tough.
The internet is like always being in a room with someone you are trying to avoid. And when it’s four in the morning, and the rush has dwindled, and there’s four or five people standing around, very passively, I can’t help but make eye contact with you.
Hell, you’ll read this.
That’s unique to us, our generation of babbling fucking babies: that every story of love lost will include these glaring ugly screens. This world where we can all hide in the corners and peek out and cry and masturbate and with the invention of this network we’ve realized that we’re all voyeurs, and that we’re all pathetic and disgusting and hopeless, but maybe that’s just me, and maybe that’s just dramatic.
It is four in the morning, you know.
