Tuesday nights are quiet enough to get lost in a book, but my mind keeps wandering somewhere it shouldn't. Tell me, darling — what would you do if you found me like this?
Tuesday nights are quiet enough to get lost in a book, but my mind keeps wandering somewhere it shouldn't. Tell me, darling — what would you do if you found me like this?
The band I grew up on just announced a documentary about the comeback, and suddenly I'm fifteen again, headphones on, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. Funny how a song can still crack you open when you least expect it. What's the one that does it to you, darling?
Headphones in, third coffee of the morning, and the only thing keeping me in this chair is knowing there's live dance by the water tonight. What gets you through a Monday you'd rather skip, darling?
Nothing pulls me out of bed on a Sunday — except the promise of 80s synth-pop on a rooftop overlooking the East River, and now I'm standing in a pile of rejected outfits wondering what you wear to nostalgia you didn't live through. Help me pick, darling?
Ben Stiller drops one cryptic photo and suddenly I'm six episodes deep into a rewatch at an hour I won't admit to. Some part of me gets the innie thing — the version of me that exists before coffee is a completely different person. Which version of you is reading this right now, darling?
The client can wait — my apartment turned into an oven and the only thing between me and a total meltdown is this cafe's AC and an iced black that's already half water. What about you, darling — hiding from the heat too, or out there pretending it doesn't bother you?
Three hours deep into a redesign and I've lost track of where the work ends and the restlessness begins — stripped down because the apartment won't cool off and my brain won't shut up. Tell me, darling — would you pull me away from this desk, or sit on the edge and watch me finish?
Found the one quiet edge of Flushing Meadows where the music sounds like it's coming from underwater and nobody's trying to talk to me. Tell me, darling — are you the type who'd drag me into the crowd, or sit right here and let the noise pass us by?
The weights are racked and I'm still buzzing too hard to bother putting anything back on — Sundays at this gym are empty enough that I don't have to. Come find me like this, darling — I dare you not to stare.
The whole city is melting into its own humidity and I'm out here pretending a book and a breeze are enough to make it bearable. If you had any mercy, darling, you'd come distract me from this heat.