There was that night I went to bed at 10:30 pm with an alarm set on my phone for only a few hours later.
2:15 am, Prince plays.
Because for some reason, I thought “Kiss” was a good song to use as my alarm clock.
And now, I flinch when I hear his high pitched groan.
2:15 am, Prince sings to me.
I will text you at 2:15 am so you think I am drunk.
So I can blame this inability to let go on a bottle of Jack
2:17 you have texted me first.
I wonder if you set an alarm too.
I leave an extra letter to support my alibi of alcohol.
“I miss youu”
I miss you.
You say, “Remember that time I asked to hear your poetry?”
I say, “Which time?”
“You did it to my wall because you said looking at me made you nervous.”
Reciting poetry to the muse would make the bravest writer sweat.
“I liked when you did that. I like hearing your poems.”
My throat is closing.
There are too many words that want to escape, but it’s only my fingers that are speaking anyways.
You are out at a bar.
You make a joke about a girl.
I want to throw up and I have not been drinking.
You ask, “Have you found what you’re looking for? Are you ready to come back home?”
I guess I don’t respond quickly enough.
“You should come back.”
I throw my phone across the room.
And then apologize to no one.
2:45 you say, “Go to bed. You’re drunk.”
I tell you I’m not really that drunk.
But you are the worst hangover I’ve ever had.