i was here three years ago, maybe anxious to call an old man who once told me not to fiddle with all the photocopies he has made one afternoon. i wanted to apologize, but for what?
could every tweet i had seen some nights ago tell me that i have to know more people? has work made it harder for you—me—to meet interesting personalities? why am i even trying to dig deeper when i could easily say i'm in the wrong place the whole time?
look at me write incoherent stuff while looking at a profile! smoothly whisper to myself, "sanity is ironic." this undoing doesn't actually rely on negation. believe your friends. as parallel as you would like to think your timelines are, acknowledge your delusion. "sanity is ironic?"
i glance at the bloated books i never bothered to open if not for the flood last year.
maybe all i need from now is contextualization and forgiveness. and a more constant changelog, bordering on the performative (because "normal" people have a knack for misinterpreting my intentions!).
but you—i have overstayed. i should believe my friend when they implore me to be cynical of what i have seen in profiles in terms of its reliability to represent a person. for my own sake.