The Spin Theory

The things I forgot to say. The things I should’ve done. The things I forgot to say. The things I should’ve done. The things I forgot to say—

Stop.

I hastily shuffle through the papers on my desk before crumpling the majority of them and throwing them out. It was always just a happy waste of time. The morning light breaks through the window like I have written about before – faded yellow across the dust that has collected on everything; it doesn’t have the same romanticism in real life. Everything is a fucking rip-off. Not a single one of these has a point, or, if they did, they hardly matter anymore. It’s so easy to get lost in your head, when it contains the only place you want to be.

Get a hold of yourself.

This city is a plague. Massive freeways twist around blue glass towers. Concrete, asphalt and silicon. It’s flatter here than further south, and I find myself constantly apologizing for the scenery. It’s not my fault, I know, but she deserves better. I have no control, and that scares me. I can plot out every scenario; every conversation; a veritable city map of the possibilities of the day, save for one unintended variable.

She knows it, too. I’ll beat myself up for weeks over that single phrase. Prometheus and his liver.

Don’t ask the questions you don’t want answered.

The things I should’ve said. The things I forgot to do. The things I should’ve said. The things I forgot to do. The things I should’ve said—