It’s funny how crazy works, like an interrogation, or maybe an interrogation mirror, like a two-way one. You’ll all like, YOU ARE CRAZY, and I’m like, NO WAY YOU ARE SO CRAZY. I think we were both right, then and now. You like guys with neck tattoos and criminal pasts, and I have this wandering head, which is way more fun than it sounds.
It’s funny how laziness works, too, sustaining a teenage relationship for almost three years on shitty television, box mac and cheese, and fear. We were both afraid of growing up, of getting off the couch, of your dad, of being lonely. All the pictures of us were you squeezing my belly, pressing your cheeks into my gut, and me looking like WOAH YEAH SO GLAD I’M NOT ALONE.
It’s funny how emotions work. I wasn’t sure I had any until I was 19, and I was sure all of yours were fake, and I think still are. My emotions sometimes look like a blip, like just-wait-and-it’ll pass. Yours are a fog. I don’t have to explain fog.
It’s funny how break-ups work. History isn’t enough to keep things cool or fun or even alive. No, we are dead, and that’s okay. We had a nice time, sometimes, like riding around on my scooter, but they weren’t things that last.
It’s funny how bad of decisions I made and how nothing bad happened. NICE!