Scared Selfish

Are you out there, dear reader? Are you out there, still? I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and all the things I’d like to tell you. It’s selfish, maybe. But I always go on talking.

I’d like to tell you I started school again, and that one of my professors looks like Aang the Avatar grown up. I’d like to tell you that my grandfather passed away this week. I’d like to tell you that I don’t know whether or not I should go home for the funeral.

I’d like to tell you that I am very, very afraid. I feel the weight of disaster, and I’d like to tell you that.

I’d like to tell you that I’m maybe getting better at chess, though it is very hard to say. I’d like to tell you that I danced alone in my room for an hour. I’d like to tell you, regrettably, that I know Free Falling on the ukulele, by heart. I’d like to tell you that I baked cookies with chocolate kisses on top. I’d like to tell you that they melted in the oven to crispy pancake tits. 

I’d like to tell you that I’m so very proud of my best friend. 

I’d like to tell you that I’m scared, too. 

You’re not empty or helpless, and I’d like to tell you that.

I love you, dear reader. Tell me stuff.